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dholwrites · 3 years

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Work Out the Knots

Notes: Commission piece for @fuu9266. This has the ending to Shadowbringers! Relationship: Thancred Waters x WoL OC [Fuujin Lorelei] Rating: E Summary: After the battle against Hades, Fuujin and the Scions return back to the Crystarium where a party is being thrown to celebrate the return of the night. Thancred slips into her room for a massage and more.

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Thancred takes a long sip of the cold water in his cup as he eyes the other party-goers. A round of cheers erupt from nearby patrons, clinking their mugs before emptying them all in one go. Whoops quickly follow as they watch a dwarf drink another blond-haired hume under the table. It’s the first celebration to mark the beginning of a new era, and the leader of the Crystarium is quick to suggest a party to welcome the night and the heroes’ safe return. Drinks and food are served around the clock as everyone takes advantage of the Exarch’s generosity to eat and drink as if they’ve been given a new life.

As much as he wishes to join them, Urianger’s constant presence has become more than a thorn in his side. The elezen had threatened to share every detail of his past endeavors if he so much as eyed a goblet of ale for a moment too long. How Urianger managed to get his hands on certain details will have to remain a mystery; one he doesn’t want to unravel, at least not tonight. Especially when he is keen on making sure that Fuujin and Ryne don't hear any of his past escapades. While Fuujin knows of some of the things he’s done in the past, now that he’s in a committed relationship with her, he wants to avoid the topic as much as possible.

The hyur searches the area for his favorite miqo’te, only to realize that he can’t even catch a strand of her black hair. He lets out a small huff when he can't spot her at all and settles deeper into his seat. Both Urianger and Y’shtola are quick to pick up his change of demeanor. Any of the Scions could tell how smitten he is with his mood bouncing up and down depending on how long their Warrior has been away. Thancred would become snappy and anxious when Fuujin doesn’t check in right away.

“She is taking the younglings back into their room, Thancred.” ‘Master Matoya’ peeks at him over the brim of her teacup. There is an amused twinkle in her eyes before she glances in the direction of the city’s personal suites. It isn’t hard for him to figure out what she is implying.

He could feel his face grow warmer and warmer as Y’shtola snickered under her breath at his suffering. Deciding he’s too tired to deal with any more teasing, he downs the rest of his cup and turns to leave before the other two could utter a word. “I’ll see myself off.”

Urianger only lets out a sigh as he watches their friend march towards the suits before turning to Y’shtola. “Privy, thus thou provth he?’”

She only flashes him a mischievous look before pouring herself another cup. “It’s no longer our problem.”

Instead of making his way to his own room, his feet brought him to her front door. Thancred raised his hand to knock, hesitating just a moment when he could hear some shuffling inside. He barely managed to get three knocks in before the door swung open to reveal Fuujin, still dressed in her Thavarnian outfit with the bells, gold chains, and arm wrappings removed. It’s an outfit that reminds him of the performers that he’d seen in Limsa.

“Finally had enough for today?” She teased with a smile before stepping aside for him to enter, the miqo’te returning to put away her gear for the day.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

Thancred lets out an annoyed huff as he nudged the door shut behind him, his eyes never once leaving her form. He’s seen her well over a dozen times in her white dress, not to mention without it, but the effect it has is still prominent. He wishes to reach out, to trace his hand across her back and along her waist, to feel her warmth under his palm; to feel her tan skin pressed against his, her black hair between his fingers, and see her sky-blue eyes grow hazy with pleasure. His own eyes could never stray far from her before they’re naturally pulled back to her form, like a moth drawn to a flame. She entranced him.

He starts to toss off his own gear, setting his cherished gunblade on the table and shrugging off his long coat to hang off the back of a chair. A groan slips out as the heaviness slips off his shoulders. He rolls them in an attempt to relieve himself of some of the pain, not to mention her burning gaze boring into his back.

“Liking what you see, Fuu?” He flexes his arms for good measure despite his muscles protesting, yet the laugh and smile he spots from the corner of his eye is more than enough to make up for it.

“You seem a little tense.” Her fingers press against his shoulders, feeling the knots that have formed there.

“My back is killing me, but nothing a hot shower and a good night’s rest can’t solve.” He spins on his heel and takes her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. His mischievous grin is met with her own shy smile.

Fuujin taps his chin with her free hand, her head tilting over towards the bed. “Strip and lay down.”

“My dear, Fuujin, I thought you’d never ask.” He received a light slap on his side for his comment. Still, he easily tugs his shirt over his head, giving her a clear view of the muscle he’s built since taking up the gunblade. Thancred falls on his stomach and onto the bed without another word. Fuujin forces herself to look away from his figure to pull out a vial of massage oil, its lavender scent starting to fill the air as she pours the contents onto her hands, spreading the coat around to fully warm it up. She turns back towards him, taking a moment to pause at the sight before her.

The gentle light of the moon shone over every dip and curve of his muscle, highlighting the worn battle scars that he has accumulated over the years as a gunbreaker. His arms are tucked underneath the pillow holding up his chin as Fuujin slowly crawls on top of him, gently balancing herself on his lower back.

Everything slowly melts away as she slathers the excess lotion on him. Her thumbs dig into the tense muscle between his shoulder blades before she flattens her hands and begins rubbing the bones of Thancred’s spine. Underneath her, his hand claws into the bed sheets.

“Twelve, that feels good .” She could feel the deep groan under her palm as she continued to work on his back. Thancred’s shoulders rise and fall with each heavy breath, steady moans slipping out in between. The soothing smell of lavender does little to cool the warmth pooling at the pit of her stomach, like dipping heated metal into water .

Her blue eyes linger at the skin covered by the ends of his hair, and she couldn’t resist her temptation any longer. Leaning forward, with hands pressed firmly against his sides, she placed a hot kiss against the back of his neck. Her ears pick up on the hum of appreciation reverberating in the air, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Does he know what he’s doing to her?

The air in the room grows warmer with every press of her thumb. Fuujin could not help but lean forward to press her lips against his shoulder blades. She briefly felt him stiffen up before all his tension melted away like ice on a summer’s day. Not hearing any protest, she kisses him again. Over and over, the miqo’te showers him with soft, light kisses as her hands work down into his lower back.

The moan that he let out when she touched a weak spot went straight through her, her own smallclothes growing wet with excitement. She stops just short of the waist of his shorts, instead gripping his sides and kissing up his neck and cheek until she reaches his lips. Her fingers slip past the band and draw circles on his skin as he pushes himself onto his elbows to return the kiss in full force. His tongue dipped between the seam of her lips, touching her own and stealing her breath in a single motion. He took her hand, not caring about the oil that sticks to her skin, his digits gliding across her palm and coating his own with the floral scent.

Thancred nudged her up to her knees before rolling over and laying his back flat against the bed. His tent brushes against her underwear, dragging tentatively across her smalls and sends shivers from her spine to her tail. With his oil slicked finger, he pulls aside her panties and lightly strokes her folds; the sensation making her entire body shudder.

The oil mixes with her juices as the hyur toys with her clit, his index finger purposely tracing around it and ghosting over the nerves with practiced ease that leaves her tingling and wanting. Thancred stares at her face as he continues to tease, taking in the sight of her red cheeks, her gasps, and her fluttering ears. It’s adorable how her body twitches at each motion. He wants to pull her down for a kiss but decides to refrain. It's been a while since he got to see the pleasure written across her face.

He traced painstakingly lower, circling around her entrance one final time before dipping his fingers inside. Thancred’s other hand trailed down to run along the planes of her back before rubbing the fur at the base of her tail. He watched as Fuujin’s face twisted and her mouth fell open to let out a short moan. He has every intention of getting her to sing longer and pull himself up; his lips pressing against her neck as he fondles her tail. His other hand traveled along her side and cupped her breast. A sudden gasp escapes the miqo’te as he rubs her nipple, and her nails dig into his skin.

“T-Thancred,” Fuujin mutters breathlessly.

The hyur could feel his cock twitch at the sound of his name on her lips, and his smallclothes were quickly becoming far, far too tight. He has barely been touched and already she is getting his blood pumping. She is too sultry for her own good.

He pulls away from her neck, their gazes locking with each other as she reopens her sky colored eyes. Fuujin wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him and leaving no room to breathe without feeling the other. Their lips crash together in a kiss even hotter than before, with her wasting little time to brush her tongue between his lips and into his mouth. Thancred wraps both of his arms around her waist to stabilize her, and she took the chance to grind her hips against his hardening cock.

“Fuu,” Thancred says between a series of tiny kisses, “I’ll buy you a new pair later.”

A sharp tear echoes through the room as Thancred ripped through the band of her smallclothes like it’s nothing more than paper. The remains are tossed off to the side with little care by the time she realizes what is happening. She knows she should be angry at him for pulling something like that, but it only turned her on even more knowing that he’s as desperate as she is to fuck.

Fuujin glares and smacks his arm. Her cheeks had felt warm already, but now they burn from embarrassment. He added to her shame by chuckling as he tugs down his shorts and pulls his aching member free, his hand spreading the mix of her juices and oil onto his length as he strokes himself from base to tip.

“Don’t pretend as if you didn’t enjoy that,” he teases her while dragging the head against her lower lips. She could feel him perfectly position it at her entrance, her body already quivering with anticipation.

Deciding that he’s taking too long, she pushes to make the first move. Fuujin slowly lowers herself onto his cock, digging her nails into his shoulder to prevent him from moving; the hitch in his breath setting off a small rush of excitement. Ilm by thick ilm, she feels herself stretch to take him in one go. No matter how many times they’ve fucked, she could never get over how full he made her. Thancred’s hand settles on her waist, stroking her smooth skin to soothe her.

Fuuhjin took a moment to calm her nerves, then slowly rolled her hips against his. She drank up every drop of pleasure like water, using it as fuel to push her body to keep going. Her fingers moved from his shoulder to his chest, feeling every flex of his muscles as he restrained himself and the pounding of his heartbeat. Thancred, in turn, didn’t leave any patch of skin uncarressed; holding onto her hips, stroking her thigh, or squeezing her breast. His hands never leaving her as she rode him towards sweet release.

“Keep going, Fuu, you look amazing from down here.” She could feel the rumbling of his voice under her palms. One of his own reached up to play with her chest while the other one urged her to pick up the pace. Impatient, he grabs a hold of her hip and thrusts upward as she comes down, pulling out as she rises up only to bury himself to the hilt again.

Thancred pulls her down and plants a kiss at the top of her head as his pace picks up. Fuujin wraps her arms around his neck to brace herself, with one hand digging into his luscious white locks. Her ears and tail flicker and wiggle in the air at the onslaught of pleasure, her long silky strands tickling his neck and skin like feathers. She tips back her head and chants his name to the ceiling, her legs trembling, fingers knotting into his hair. Thancred wraps his arms around her waist to prevent her from moving far.

He moans into her sensitive ears, sending signals through her entire body, making her feel like a time bomb. Any moment she would come undone, her tail curling and uncurling in the air behind her.

“T-twelves,” Fuujin muttered, her entire body shivering at his groans, “why are you doing that in my ear?”

“Because,” Thancred whispered into her ear in a deep husky tone, “I want you to hear what you do to me.”

Her breath hitched, eyes widened, and ears stood at attention at his words. It gave him easier access to continue his onslaught, his lip lightly gazing at the length of her ear as he lets out a powerful moan. Her own body betrays her as the vibration sends another rush of pleasure that has her curling her toes.

“Now, no more talking,” Thancred growls into her ear, a sharp roll of his hips knocking the breath out of her. “The only thing I want to hear from you is my name .”

With that command, he gripped her hips and pulled out until it was only the tip inside. His head brushes against a bundle of nerves that sends waves of pleasure through her entire body, Fuujin’s back arching and she nearly chokes on her own breath. Her vision goes hazy with desire but she attempts to look at his face. With a swift thrust, he hits the spot again and his own veins fill with liquid fire as he watches the dancer’s body squirm to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Than- Than -” she barely gets her words out before another thrust throws off her train of thought. Every blissful moan encouraged his craving to see her come undone on his cock.

“Sing a little louder, my dear Fuu.” Thancred licks his lips, his eyes dark with lust as the command slips out as easily as he breathes. He removes his hand from her waist to pinch her clit, her back arching further as he stroked the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. He knows her body almost as well as she does; what motions make her gasp, what angle would bring her mind to a halt, and how to make her body tense under his manipulation. All she needs is him - his scent and warmth and the release .

Pleasure ripples through him as he feels her body tighten around him, and he lets out a low moan as he realizes that he is near his breaking point. He tugs her back down towards him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he buries his own in her hair. Her body trembles as the vibration of his low, silvery voice fills her ears and sets off every single sensitive nerve she has.

With a final thrust, Thancred fully buried himself inside her, his cock throbbed as he came inside her tight heat. The warmth sent a shiver up her spine. Her chest presses against the hyur as she cums as well; crying out a slurred version of his name.

A quiet moment passes as the two catch their breath and come down from their high. Thancred recovers first and moves to get them settled into the bed, slowly pulling out and laying her down beside him and wrapping a protective arm around her waist. The scent of sex and lavender have taken over the room; anyone would immediately know what they had been up to, but who would attempt to disrupt the hero from her rest after all that she had done?

The muffled cheering and fireworks sound in the distance outside the window. Wordlessly, their eyes grew heavy with sleep. Thancred buries his head in the space on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent before planting a kiss on her skin. Her tail unconsciously curling around his waist did not go unnoticed by him.

“Sleep well, my dear. You deserve it. ”

#thancred waters #lemon #lemon me this #commission #writing commission #ffxiv

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superfluouskeys · 4 years

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For the FF14 write wequest !! Missed, Forgotten , Friendship. Early days , Alisaie struggling with her new reality without her friend WoL and finding comfort and purpose with Tesleen.

Bless you this was a beautiful excuse for an outpouring of Alisaie-related emotions. Generic female WoL. Mild spoilers thru the very beginning of Shadowbringers.

Currently accepting FFXIV prompts/requests because I haven’t written in forever and FFXIV is all my last remaining brain cell cares about currently!

Before Alisaie has fully come to her senses, she’s hit in the face with something soft. Her eyes sting with unshed tears, and she feels as though she’s been cut off mid-sentence, though she cannot remember what she was saying. Distantly, she thinks she hears an unfamiliar voice saying something, distressed and almost angry, but the words come as though she is underwater.

Before anything else, she realizes that she is cold. She presses her hands against a floor like marble and realizes that she is naked, and that the something soft that hit her is a caster’s robe, made for someone much larger. She puts it on, anyway.

The next thing she notices is a hooded figure standing across the room from her, turned away and making a fist against the wall. The room reminds her of the observatory at the Studium—it’s got the look of a place meant for studying stars and distant planets.

“I am truly sorry,” says the hooded figure softly.

Slowly, insidiously, the memories return. “You did this?” Alisaie demands, standing on shaking legs.

She’ll kill him. As she gains her footing, she can see that he is not a large man, and he wields a mage’s staff. She can overpower him before he—

She reaches for her rapier and falters.

She doesn’t kill or even maim the Crystal Exarch. Perhaps it’s because he graciously provides her with a replacement weapon, or perhaps it’s because he is so eager to aid her in reuniting with her brother. Perhaps it’s because sometimes, he almost seems like he would welcome some sort of retribution, for crimes far beyond the scope of a well-intentioned accident.

Perhaps it’s because Alisaie would be a rather magnificent liar if she were to say she does not hope he succeeds in summoning the Warrior of Light here.

If she were here, everything would be all right. It always is. It always was.

Alisaie doesn’t kill the Crystal Exarch, but she will if she has to stand around day in and day out watching him pore over books and letters and stare off into space contemplating the theory of magic, or whatever else he does between failed summonings.

She finds plenty to kill in what remains of Ahm Araeng. For awhile, it’s all she does, all she thinks about. She throws herself into the art of killing as much and as quickly as she can with all the single-minded focus of a scholar, and she becomes quite good at it.

She’d like to say she’s fighting to protect the people of this world. She’d like to pretend she’s preparing for the future, that one day the Warrior of Light will return and oh, won’t she be impressed by how much Alisaie has improved? Surely then she’ll know she can always count on Alisaie to stand by her side, no matter what perils they may encounter.

She would like to believe in these happy and hopeful thoughts, but they are lies. Alisaie doesn’t care for the people of this world, and she does not think of the future. Alisaie cannot even imagine a future that holds anything worth thinking about. She sleeps when what passes for her body is well beyond exhaustion and wakes when she cannot sleep any longer, and then she fights and she kills, and she becomes quite good at it. There is nothing else left for her.

Alphinaud writes her to gently suggest that she consider selling her services as a guard, rather than a mere kill-for-hire, and it’s the only time she can remember when one of his suggestions hasn’t made her want to hunt him down just to slap him. A simple change of title will afford her better accommodations, after all, and better access to information regarding goings-on that have nothing to do with what needs butchering that particular day.

She makes her way to the Infirmary, only distantly aware that she’s been avoiding it, and she strides up to a young woman tending a cooking pot without taking in much of anything around her.

“Hello,” she begins, unfeeling and unseeing. “I wondered if you might have need of a guard.”

The woman looks up from her cooking pot, bright green eyes and a smile that is surprisingly warm, and Alisaie feels her heart stutter. How long since anyone has looked upon her with--well, with any warmth at all?

“I recognize you,” says the woman. “People in town say you’re a force of nature.” She points with her spoon to the rapier at Alisaie’s hip. “It’s some kind of magic-sword hybrid, right? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Nervous laughter bubbles up inside her lungs, and Alisaie averts her gaze, dizzy and overwarm beneath the glow of such undivided attention. No one looks at her here. Not unless they’re poised to attack.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much to spare,” the woman continues. “Will food and lodging do for now?”

Alisaie has half a mind to turn and run without another word, without another thought. She feels as though she might weep, suddenly and horribly, for all she has lost and forgotten, buried underneath a rage bright and unforgiving as these burning skies. She cannot bear to look up again, knows the mere sight of a friendly face will reduce her to senseless hysterics. “Yes,” she says quietly.

“Wonderful!” says the woman. “You’re just in time, actually. The stew is ready! Won’t you have a seat?”

Alisaie obeys, eyes downcast, and accepts her stew with a silent nod. For all the time she’s been here, never has she felt more like a spirit cut adrift from her body.

Alisaie spends the next several days almost consistently teary-eyed, a circumstance as wholly unwelcome as it is uncommon for her. Alisaie Leveilleur does not mope, and she certainly does not mope for days on end.

Tesleen, the woman who runs the Infirmary, is, mercifully, insightful enough to put it into words. “It must have been hard, being out there all on your own,” she says, kindly, but without pity. “Sometimes you can’t let yourself feel things ‘til you know it’s safe, right?” she taps her fingers against her chest, over her heart, then hands Alisaie a bowl of stew. “I’d say it’s a good thing, wouldn’t you? That you’re feeling a little bit safer?”

Alisaie scrubs at her eyes with her sleeve and bows her head lower, nodding silently. Tesleen sits next to her and puts an arm around her shoulders, and, for perhaps the first time since she was an infant, Alisaie cries, hard.

Every time she thinks she has never been more alone, the universe finds a way to prove her wrong. She dares not even give voice to the thought, for she can imagine how it will go.

You’re not alone anymore, Tesleen will say, and like an idiot, Alisaie will believe her. Maybe she’ll do what she did to the gods-damned Warrior of Light and beg like a foolish child not to be abandoned.

And then, not a moment later, some horrible thing will come and take her away, too.

So Alisaie doesn’t put voice to her thoughts, but allows herself to be held until she calms down. In a way, the words don’t really need to be spoken. The stew is warm and filling, and no one here will pay undue attention to someone who is overcome by grief, and Tesleen gives Alisaie’s shoulders one more gentle squeeze before she stands and goes on about her business.

The words don’t need to be spoken, because now Alisaie feels less alone. She can fend off sin eaters for these people who need that from her. Her brother and the other Scions, while not exactly easy to reach, are more or less safe, and they are here if she really needs them.

Still…

By the Twelve, how she wishes the Warrior of Light were here. If she were here, everything would be all right. It always is.

It always was.

#alisaie leveilleur #ffxiv writing #ffxiv writers #ffxiv #ffxiv alisaie #learned how to spell leveilleur today lol #exciting tag for writing things #feels GOOD to WRITE omg #artwaffle142

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faelune-home · 3 years

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(fanfic) “how the guiding light wavers”

(A/N: I’ve had this in the works for a few weeks now. I first brought it up in this long post I wrote to establish character stuff, but this is the work that will finally make me feel a bit more secure in writing for my miqo’te girl. I’m aware it all sounds convoluted and bizarre to fixate on a name like this, but it was something that bothered me, and I’m the one actually doing the writing for my own character, so I do hope that this fic finally makes writing easier.

But alongside the name stuff, it’s also a larger look at where Fhara is emotionally throughout Shadowbringers I suppose. A little bit of where she’s come from and where she’s been so far and where she stands before entering Endwalker, so there’s at least a little bit more to this fic than just name shenanigans. XD

Name shenanigans and heroic title woes and legacy musings. All wrapped up in a complicated bow. Aha. I’ll probably do more Scion interaction focused additions on Fhara’s woes and worries later, especially since I had some in the original fic only to remove them as it was getting way too wordy, but this is the main meat of those feelings here and now.

Strong spoilers for the ending Stormblood patches and Shadowbringers, more so 5.0 and then just fleeting mentions of patch stuff. Set after 5.3.

Word count: 4760

Ao3 link)

When she set out from her home for Eorzea’s shores, she had a goal; to become a hero, and make her name known across the world. To be known as someone great and powerful, with monsters big and small bested at her hand, yet also someone kind and helpful, saving people and making their life a little bit easier. A lofty goal, but one she figured could be done, one small step at a time. After all, every adventurer started small.

Little did she know that her forays in Eorzea would grant her her desires, at a much faster rate than she anticipated; she joined the Scions, with their close ties to the city leaders and their own aims to protect the realm, and in gaining a reputation as a primal slayer, became known as a fabled Warrior of Light. A type of hero normally assigned to legend. It was everything she could have wanted and maybe even more than she could handle. It was a heavy title, but one she wore proudly, all while continuing as she had originally planned.

Yet as time passed, the weight grew heavier. There was still pride and joy in doing the right thing for the sake of others, protecting the innocent from those that would do them harm, but at some point, in the midst of the fighting, torn between Ascians and the Empire, despite doing the same thing she always did, her thoughts would wander to her original purpose in undertaking this grand adventure.

To become a figure of whom stories would be told, for those stories to return to her home and inspire the younger children, much like the old tales had inspired herself. To teach them to do good, to do better, to help others, to be brave, to be kind. An idealistic idea but one she held fast to. And by all accounts, fighting under the Warrior of Light title aided her even further in another aspect of her plans; to allow her to step back from the world once all is done and know peace when she hung up her bow and settled down.

When she set out from her home, she was ‘Fufu’; an old childhood nickname she’d long outgrown in her village, with the exception of her aunt, repurposed for her heroic exploits until the Warrior of Light title seemed to do the job better. Then in Eorzea, in the comfort of those she came to call a second family, she could be Fhara again. And it was nice, comforting even. To know that others knew her as more than just her heroic title, and that the Rising Stones could feel like a home so far away from home.

A home that was always filled with the sound of laughter or chatter, always someone socialising with a friend or partner, or busy working, the Rising Stones had all the energy and joy within its walls that she knew from her home, even with all the group had been through. To find that joy stripped out, the halls empty of people as her dearest friends collapsed into lifelessness and everyone else was left to fill in for their missing teammates…

For Fhara, it left her with no-one. But the Warrior of Light still had work to do.

The Warrior of Light had faced down conquerors, defeated dragons, set free thousands from the shackles of tyranny. But Fhara had never been alone in her feats, always with her companions at her side, or standing strong behind her, keeping the way clear for her, ready to back her up.

The Warrior of Light would go on to face Zenos that day in Ghimlyt Dark, the whispered tales from young inexperienced soldiers speaking how she almost pushed him back single handedly, with the famed Azure Dragoon jumping into the fray to assist her. In truth, Fhara stood alone on that battle field, facing a barely weakened, Ascian possessed corpse, the collapsed figures of her resistance comrades strewn behind her, she kept going until she herself blacked out under mysterious circumstances, only surviving by Estinien’s timely arrival.

Her recovery in Ishgard started her thinking, mixed in with the anxious waves of the mysterious caller’s words. The Warrior of Light would ever be revered for their acts, but as a single entity. Whereas Fhara, while capable on her own, worked best with a team, with her friends by her side. Working out a plan of attack together, or simply knowing they were there with her gave her strength. Yet standing on the field that day, the only thing giving her the strength to fight on was the desire to protect others, for if the Ascian controlling the fallen crown prince made it past her, Eorzea would no doubt suffer.

Then a stray thought...what gave her the strength to start doing all of this in the first place? What was her drive to begin with? It seemed so long ago…

‘Fufu’ had come all the many malms from a small village on the outskirts of Thavnair to become a hero, one that would have bard songs made about her for the sake of children’s tales. But the Warrior of Light had ultimately taken on that role. So what was the point of continuing to call herself ‘Fufu’ to the public? Was it just a habit by that point? A desire to hide herself behind an identity that both was and wasn’t her? After all, it was a nickname that had long been associated with her, and in the absence of any other ideas for an alias to call herself - oft teased as she was for her poor imagination for naming things - she had fallen to the easiest idea of her old childhood moniker.

Maybe it was time to move on from such childish notions? Her thoughts were neither bitter nor certain. The questions merely buzzed in her head as she left them unanswered.

She left the city with her golden hair cropped, a request asked of Jandelaine, met in passing before she left Ishgard behind her.

“It is a shame,” he’d said at the sight of her shorn twintail, the other loose from the hair tie, matted with blood and dirt, “But I can tidy it up and it’s like it never happened. A return to beauty and grace, just say the word.”

She could’ve kept it the same, and continued on as normal. But instead it was all gone. Because maybe a fresh start was what she needed?

~*~*~

The First was not a fresh start. At least not one Fhara was expecting. A land on the cusp of destruction, perpetually bathed in an unnatural eerie light, the people hunted by Sin Eaters, suffering either death or a torturous transformation in turn. She very quickly learned how terrifying, how desolate some corners of the land of Norvrandt could be, and she could well understand why, if people were living in such conditions.

Her first port of call in the strange new land was the oddly familiar gleaming tower, a recognisable pillar even against the hazy glowing sky. And within was the enigmatic Crystal Exarch, ready to greet her with open arms.

She had mixed feelings about the Exarch, on many points; having Called her friends and left their lifeless bodies back on the Source in an uncertain state, or even that Calling them was an accident in itself, since she herself was meant to be the target gave her no end of frustration toward the man. Even then with the knowledge that he hadn’t intended to summon the other Scions, the idea that he had wanted her to act alone in saving the First was one Fhara couldn’t help but balk at.

Of course she was willing to help, she couldn’t stand seeing people suffer while she knew she could do something. But to think she would be able to handle the work singlehandedly was pure folly. In that way, perhaps it was a small relief then that she had the Scions to help her, unintentional was their presence on the First. Even with the uncertainty surrounding their summoning and the state of their separated selves, she at least had her friends and teammates with her.

However it was his first impression beyond his summoning mishaps that stuck with Fhara and kept her uneasy around the man; no sooner had she arrived at the gate, he had welcomed her past his wary gate guard, quick to introduce her and settle her into the Crystarium. A warm welcome for sure, and not one she was ungrateful for, however the mix of familiar and unfamiliar in the man’s demeanor made her cautious.

That he knew her so well, so casually referred to her as ‘Fufu’ before she had even introduced herself, how comfortable he seemed while using it - hand waved away as him learning it from old records stored within the Tower, a name used in tandem with the Warrior of Light title, although it reignited her recent troubled thoughts on her public identity - while she knew nothing about him, that not even his own people could say much of him did nothing to ease her. Every factor together had her wanting to keep the Exarch at arms length. She would do as he asked - save the First, bring back the Light, prevent another Calamity from decimating the Source - and in return, he would return her friends’ home. That was all that was needed.

Of course, things would never be that simple.

In a land ravaged by Light for 100 years, a Warrior of Light was considered a heathen, a villain that had doomed them all. Instead, the people hoped and prayed for a Warrior of Darkness to be their hero. And so Fhara, with the starlit sky returning in the wake of her arrival, would become that hero.

Fhara didn’t want to say she hated it, however the dizzying speed with which the title and the stories spread was a shock to the system, moving even quicker than her reputation as the Warrior of Light had grown on the Source. She couldn’t blame the people for their enthusiasm, especially when the hero of legend’s arrival coincided with the return of the night after a century without.

She didn’t hate it. But she found herself seeking the comfort of her closest friends more often than she used to before. She knew they weren’t looking at a grand hero, but just Fhara, who stood up to answer the call. And they stood with her. As the days would pass on the First, rarely was she without a Scion by her side, only truly left alone in the comfort of her inn room, and even then, the wayward spirit of Ardbert was a presence she didn’t resent.

The days would pass, and the night returned across the land, and beyond the walls of the Crystarium, away from the crowds of people that would revere a hero, through pixie flower beds and dense forests ever shaded from the skies, and into desert ruins of a civilisation long lost-

“Welcome aboard, Ryne.”

Fhara had seen the young Oracle struggle under the weight of her legacy, the expectations of her duty to protect and act as a beacon of hope for the people of Norvrandt, while also living in Minfilia’s shadow by virtue of her name and powers. Fhara could empathise with the young girl, having long known the feeling of so many people relying on her and her own more recent doubts that she could live up to those hopes. She kept trying all the same, as she knew the Oracle would as well, for it wasn’t in Fhara’s nature to give up if she could do something.

But now, seeing the newly christened Ryne standing with a fresh air of confidence about her, her only nerves being about doing a good job for the sake of the team and helping relinquish Amh Araeng from the grip of the Light, Fhara was proud of the girl for her new lease on life.

Yet also a tiny bit jealous, that all it took was a name and a declaration to do better by herself for the girl to suddenly be brimming with courage, whereas Fhara fretted and frayed and languished under a gifted moniker, calling herself by her childhood name and then acting as though it were her only option, that she had no other choice...but was it always that simple? To just announce to the world you could be born anew yet still the same person?

Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the solution Fhara was looking for, but it was an idea towards a resolution for her woes. After all, she wasn’t trying to begin fresh like Ryne, Fhara just wanted to be Fhara, as she always had been. It was just trying to express that to the world at large.

It was only when the Light she had been capturing within herself finally overpowered her and left her weakened and stumbling, sitting at death’s door, did it finally seem to become clear to her. So rarely before had she gotten so close to death that she had never thought so closely about what she would leave behind, or who would remember her and how. The people of Norvrandt knew the Warrior of Darkness, Eorzea knew the Warrior of Light and the Scions knew Fhara. And if she died that day that would be the memory she would leave behind.

Yet she realised, lying in her inn room, she didn’t want to just be remembered as a hero under a title, or by a name that most of her nearest and dearest scarcely used. She wanted to be remembered as Fhara, at least if it were possible.

She’d certainly made the attempt to introduce herself as such during their travels across the realm, but with how quickly people came to know her as the Warrior of Darkness, she feared that her attempts were being drowned out. However before their ascent of Mt Gulg, as the crowds gathered from across the land to assist them, she found that they knew her as Fhara, and they would talk to her, and they wished all the Scions the best of luck. And among a small few, the Warrior of Darkness was not a title solely attributed to her, but to all of her friends.

It was nice. A reassuring gesture that her efforts were noticed. Even as she stumbled her way to the deepest depths of the seas in pursuit of Emet-Selch - keenly aware that if she failed, she would be dooming the First and her fellow Scions along with her - she held onto that knowledge. After all her worries, it was an odd source of courage for her, bolstered by her desire to survive, and the understanding that she wasn’t alone in her duty.

Altogether her feelings gathered, and in the face of death and her desperate wish to live, and her wish to be known for more than her heroic tales, she made her decision. She’d never been afraid to make the first step before, not even into the unknown. She’d come all the way to Eorzea on a whim and a want, and faced almighty foes more powerful than herself with nothing more than the determination to protect those that could not fight back.

If she lived through this fight, she would cast aside her anxieties, and take that first step again.

~*~*~

Fhara wasn’t the type to call meetings, she was the type to attend someone else’s meeting. And yet the majority Scions were gathered in the Rising Stones, with the miqo’te standing at the head of the pack, nervously shuffling her feet. What few Scions that weren’t accounted for were assured to be updated afterward.

She ran her fingers through her hair, no doubt to calm some nerves, although the action drew the attentions of the group members that had only seen her sparingly during her otherworldly adventures; since last they had seen her, she’d left for the Crystal Tower with a short crop, still wearing her tattered and torn bard coat, an uneasy smile on her face as though more to reassure those around her than because she genuinely felt like her hopeful self. Yet each time she returned to report to Tataru with updates, she was a brighter figure, with a spring in her step as she relayed the progress on the First, and her hair would grow out slowly to the feathered bob she now wore. It wasn’t quite the cute twintails they’d known her for when they joined, but she looked all the more confident nowadays with it.

She finally started, with a loud voice, albeit one that cracked as though there was still some anxiety holding her back, “I have something I want to say. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long while now and that I want to be clear on moving forward.”

Any mumbling between parties silenced immediately. Fhara’s tail flicked at the now heavy hush, however some encouraging gestures from the figures at the front most row - some few nods and a thumbs up here and there - allowed her to continue, “Thank you for being here. Truthfully, some people here already know what I’m gonna talk about. But I’d rather make it clear to everyone now. This whole thing might sound rather silly to some people, that I’m worrying over nothing. Some of you might even say that if it means so much to me, then it’s not such a trivial thing. And I appreciate that, I do.”

She hesitated, ears suddenly flattening. “To cut out a long story, when I came to Eorzea, and when I joined the Scions and became known as the Warrior of Light, I told everyone here they could call me Fhara. It’s who I am after all. But outside where people would know the Warrior of Light better, then they should call me ‘Fufu’. That’s still technically me, it's an old name I was called as a child. And it’s the name I chose for travelling because...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that I wanted to separate my private life, if I ever chose to return home, from my adventure life. But lately with everything that happened and with a lot of the dangers getting so much bigger than even the Warrior of Light I just started to worry about who I really was and what I was doing.”

“Like how? You seem the same to me?” Aenor spoke up, ignoring the disapproving nudge from her frowning sister.

“I mean, I hope I do,” Fhara smiled, although it was more wistful looking than pleasant, “I never tried to pretend to be someone I’m not, no matter where I was or who I was with, or what name people called me. But I started thinking I was getting lost with myself, like people were seeing two different people with me.” Her tail flicked again. “I should say now, I don’t hate being the Warrior of Light. A lot of people try to project that I’m frustrated with it or that I could be doing better with a title like that, but none of that is true. I don’t hate it. But it’s hard. People have big hopes and expectations for me when they treat me like that, and I’ll always try to reach them, but it’s not always easy to do alone. So truly, I’m forever grateful to have you all with me at my side.”

Casting a glance over the Archons and the twins, Fhara continued, her voice somehow smaller, “But when the Callings happened, and then everyone else here was stretched to take over the work, and this place was left empty so much, I...well, as senseless as it might sound, I felt alone. But I still had a job to do, but doing it alone was hard. Because everyone else knew this brave warrior that could handle anything, and I didn’t feel like that at all.” The quiet admission brought about guilty whispering rippling through the group, until a sharp cough from F’lhaminn hushed them again.

“T’was never our intent to make you feel as though you had no-one to lean on,” the older woman said, “Especially during such a time when our own were falling out of commission. But then it was precisely such a time that we all struggled to balance the work that needed to be done, and to fill the gaps left behind. If that struggle left you without support, then that would be our failing, and for that we would owe you our sincerest apologies.” The mumblings rose once more, letting out a small chorus of “sorry”s and “‘pologies”.

Fhara gave the woman a grateful nod then added, “I understand, I do. And I didn’t say that to call out anyone here, but I won’t deny that a lot of people across the realm talk about me in such grand ways because of the work and feats I’ve done, and it’s hard to feel like I’ve lived up to their stories. In that sense, being on the First kind of helped; it was a fresh start where I could try again to do the hero thing, but in a lot of ways, it wasn’t, because the same thing that happened here on the Source happened there. People needed a hero, someone to help them, and I just became the Warrior of Darkness to answer that need, and that’s what most people knew me as. But it still gave me a chance to try and start afresh with myself, and now I feel better about where I stand. And I want to bring that feeling and those certainties back here.”

She didn’t mention Azem. Though the suggestion that Fhara may be related in some way to that Ancient had brought her more hazy feelings, she had insisted that none of that mattered. The final insistence had brought her here now, to her certain decision. She was herself, and she didn’t have to worry about being anything more.

She let in a deep breath, steeling herself as she said, “The Warrior of Light is here to stay and she’s the one that will go down in history, and I can’t change that. Not everyone in the world will know the real me beyond the heroes tales, and I can accept that. But at least on some level, I can try to let them understand me. And that can start with a name. A name can be lost to time, so I get that people in the future will never know Fhara. But the people here and now can, and that’s all I want.”

With a final, certain nod, she declared, “So from now on, I’m Fhara. Not just inside these walls, but outside them as well. It took a lot more words to say that than it probably should have, but I hope you all understand it now.” Uncertain of how to finish her speech, she took the skirt of her purple dress, already wrung tight by her nervous hands, and gave a bow. There wasn’t an immediate response. It took another glance at the twins next to her, giving her comforting looks to ease the tension in her shoulders, until another voice spoke out from behind the group.

“‘At was a lot of words to get the message out, but it looks here that it meant a lot to ye to make it sure as sure fer us lot,” the crowd parted, and Riol nodded, looking satisfied, “I think I’ll speak fer us all when I say message received loud and clear.” Fhara’s eyes started to water as she looked around to assurances and smiles, and possibly unnecessary cheers from what sounded like one of the Boulder brothers, but it was acceptance nonetheless.

“Thank you,” she sniffed, trying not to actually cry, rubbing at her face, “I mean it. This all probably sounds really ridiculous and I’m overthinking everything but-”

“There shall be none of that,” Y’shtola interrupted, “None of that self-doubt at least. We’re here for you no matter what decision you wish to make for yourself. You of all people deserve the support, and we are all the more glad to provide it.”

Fhara’s ‘Thank you’ caught in her throat, all she could do was nod. The larger group dispersed, individuals coming up to give her more reassurances and words of comfort as they passed before continuing on to their work. Urianger took G’raha aside for a word, both men departing to Dawn’s Respite, leaving the rest of the archons and the twins by Tataru’s desk with Fhara.

“So that’ll be a weight off your shoulders then?” Alisaie asked. Fhara nodded, letting out a heavy breath and slumping forward with the effort.

“I was more nervous for that than I thought, and it was just in front of the other Scions. But I’m glad. I feel like that is a step towards feeling more like myself, even if I never really strayed from that in the first place...I think.”

Thancred let out a thoughtful hum, looking over her suddenly tired frame. “I’ll say you never changed much, but I can see the ease it’s brought you now. Although if this is you after telling people that knew your little secret, how will you be with others, I wonder?” He ignored the peeved expression from Alisaie next to him as he brought it up, especially when Fhara’s face became a picture of concern.

“Oh, we’ll probably have to tell the Alliance leaders. Or do we? Is this an official thing I have to report on? Is there a process for this?” Fhara asked, eyebrows furrowing. Was there more work needed in this decision that she hadn’t thought of? Was there paperwork?

“Not to worry, I can get some official missives written up and shipped out in a jiffy,” Tataru stated, giving Fhara a bright smile and a thumbs up. Fhara returned it with a relieved look of her own, and the receptionist hopped onto her chair and set to work.

“Honestly, knowing diplomatic types, we could just use your name normally as though it's always been used, and rather than risk a faux pas, the Alliance leaders would just go along with it anyways,” Alisaie suggested with a wry smile.

Alphinaud shook his head at the suggestion. “While I don’t doubt that that is possible, sister, I would prefer if we erred on the safe side and actually updated the Alliance. We don’t have to make a large fuss over the matter for Fhara’s sake, but at least informing them of the change would be better for the Scions’ standing with them in terms of open communication.”

Alisaie rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Of course, brother.”

“At the very least, Lyse is already familiar with you personally,” Y’shtola said, addressing Fhara once more, “Even should the rest of the Alliance falter or take time to adjust, she would be able to take charge on the matter and make the adjustment easier for all. You needn’t worry about being left alone to handle this.”

“Yes, that’ll help,” Fhara smiled, however her eyes then dropped to the floor, a worrisome look on her face once more.

“Thinking now about how many people I’d need to update or inform, it feels daunting already. I’m questioning now why I thought the whole alias thing would be a good idea.”

“Really now, it’s beginning to sound like you’re thinking of telling the whole realm. You’re going to worry yourself like that,” Alisaie huffed. However she then added with a softer tone, “You said it yourself that you won’t be able to change everyone’s perception of you. Many will know the Warrior of Light, and some few will know Fufu. The odds of you coming across every familiar face you’ve ever known after this will be slim. But if it does happen, you don’t have to explain yourself in any great detail. All anyone needs to know now is that you’re just Fhara.”

The words, simple as they were, brought a warmth to her chest. And surrounded by her closest friends, those that had been with her for most of her journey and through thick and thin, the idea of continuing on into the unknown ahead of them didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“Just Fhara...I like that.”

And that was all she needed.

#My writing #ffxiv fanfic #fufu faelune #fhara laali #my wol #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #stormblood #Shadowbringers #fanfiction #ffxiv writing #how do titles work #fic titles i mean #i mused real hard for this one ahaha

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the-dragons-knight · 4 years

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FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #19 - Come with Me on an Adventure

‘Where the Heart Is’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The familiar snap of the cold air as it whipped around her made Katsum’s smile widen. It was an uncommonly clear and sunny day in the Highlands, yet the weather was ever chilling as it always was, though she would not have it any other way. She closed her eyes and held out her arms as she breathed in the sweet Coerthan breeze. It had been so very long since she had felt its chill, so long since she’d stepped foot in the snow and felt the ice tickle her skin. It was funny to how much she had missed it as she once did not like the cold, yet now, it meant that she was home.

“How wonderful it feels to fly through the clear skies,” Raihogg mused as he stilled his wings so that they glided over the mountains, “No more of the corruption of the First’s aether weighing upon us.”

Katsum leaned back down to take hold of his scales again and hold fast as he flew, nodding, “Yes, it is good to be back...”

Raihogg chuckled in his dravanian way, “You are anxious to see him again, yes?”

Her fingers tightened as her sapphire gaze turned to the fortress looming in the distance, “Oh yes, most anxious indeed.”

“Ha ha ha...I do understand that feeling very well. ‘Twill be good to see Vidolfnir again as well.”

“I promise we shall make a stop to Anyx Trine so you may do just that.”

Raihogg turned his head to smile at her, “Thank you, my friend.”

Katsum smiled and nodded.

Raihogg beat his wings purposely as he hissed, “Let us make sure all of Ishgard knows its Queen of Dragons has returned!” With a great breath, Raihogg reared back his head and roared, his voice echoing through the mountains and across the highlands, ringing out of all of Ishgard. Katsum laughed with him as they dove down towards the city, the buildings slowly coming into view as they descended. The Miqo’te scanned the roads and walkways around Foundation, seeing the knights and some of the people of the Brume running up to the edges to wave up at her as she waved back. Yet she was looking to see the blue of that beautiful robe, the gold of the embellishments and armor, and the raven color of his hair. When she did not see him there, she urged Raihogg to fly higher to the edge of the Last Vigil by House Fortemps. It was there that she found him, standing up at the circular platform there with his right hand, Lucia, behind him and the inhabitants of House Fortemps as well.

“Aymeric!” Katsum cried as Raihogg floated down, fluttering his wings to slowly land in front of them all. Katsum did not wait to launch herself from his back, leaping from the red dragon’s back into Aymeric’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his neck.

“Oh, Katsum!” He said, holding her tightly in his arms so that he did not drop her, “How I missed you!”

“I missed you too. It’s been so long...”

“Yes, it feels far too long. Yet you are home now, and safe,” She pulled back to look into his eyes, wiping a tear that had trickled down her cheek as he cupped her face, “And that is all that matters to me. Welcome home, my heart.”

She giggled and leaned in to kiss him, tightening her arms around his neck as he held her close. They kissed for a long while, pulling back to smile at each other before remembering that they were not alone. Katsum blushed lightly as she looked at them all sheepishly while Aymeric set her back on her feet, clearing his throat shyly as she smiled at Lucia and the members of the Fortemp family, “It is good to see you all again.”

“Indeed!” Lord Edmont chuckled, “It is good to see you home, Katsum.”

Artoirel nodded in agreement with Emmanellain, though the youngest brother grinned and added, “Oh, it is quite clear she is very happy to be home herself, though it may not be to see us.”

They all chuckled and Katsum’s blush darkened, “I do beg your pardon. I got a little carried away.”

Lucia chuckled, “Welcome home, my Lady.”

Katsum smiled, “Thank you.”

“I am sure you will be wanting some rest,” Edmont added, “I will be sure to let Mistress Tataru know should she send any messages.”

“Thank you, though I have already let her know that I will be taking some time away for a bit,” She turned and looked up at Aymeric, taking his hand and intertwining her fingers with his, “And I had hoped you would come with me.”

Aymeric blinked, a bright smile spreading across his face, “Well, of course! I would be more than happy to...but…-”

“There is no reason to hesitate, my lord,” They turned to see Lucia smiling, “Katsum has already asked for my help in keeping Ishgard aloft while she steals you away for a while. Go. You both deserve some much-needed rest together.”

Aymeric was at a loss for words, “I...thank you, Lucia.”

She nodded and he looked down at his wife again as she held his hand with both of hers, folding her ears back as her tail swiped around her and she looked up at him with pleading eyes, “So…? Will you come with me? For a little adventure?”

Aymeric smiled warmly, kneeling before her to take her hands and kiss her knuckles on both, lingering over the wedding ring on her left finger, “Fury help anyone who dares to try and stop me.”

Katsum laughed and leaped into his arms again before pulling him to his feet and towards Raihogg. The red dragon leaned down and moved his wing to let her climb up onto his back. She turned and held out her hand to Aymeric and he took it as she pulled him up to ride behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she patted Raihogg. The dragon stood tall again and turned, unfolding his wings and preparing for flight. Katsum and Aymeric waved to the others as she looked back at the Elzen, “Hold on. Here we go!”

Raihogg hissed as he leaped from the edge, the updraft of the air filling his wings as he flew into the clouds with them. Aymeric gasped and laughed as he tightened his grip around her, making Katsum laugh as they turned their course towards the mountains.

As Raihogg leveled out to soar with the clouds, Aymeric hugged Katsum close and kissed her temple, “I am so glad you are home.”

Katsum leaned back into him, turning her head to nuzzle his cheek, joyous tears rolling down her cheeks as she did, “You’ve no idea how happy I am to be as well. I have so much to tell you about from my time on the First,” She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath as she grinned, “But for now, shall we see what adventures await us?”

“Lead the way, and I shall follow.”

She smiled and patted Raihogg with a grin, “Onward to Dravania!”

The great red dragon’s voice rumbled in his throat before he again roared and beat the air with his wings to fly faster, carrying them through the skies towards the land of dragons.

#katsum almor #aymeric de borel #aymeric x katsum #heavensward #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #warrior of light #lucia goe junius #artoirel de fortemps #emmanellain de fortemps #edmont de fortemps #raihogg #aymeric de borel x katsum almor #post shadowbringers msq #finally taking him on an adventure #they going to be gone a while though dont look for them haha #a month long vacation #otp <3 #otp=home

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oathswornshield · 5 years

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So I’m planning to write a fanfiction...

And it will by my first one ever, but I’m no stranger to writing in general, as many of you have already HEAVILY begun to suspect. However, I am having trouble organizing my thoughts and focusing myself on one particular project, because I have ideas for many. That said, I would like some of you to help me by peering into some of these ideas and telling me which you’d prefer to see! Opinions and feedback are also welcome! (And if you’re feeling bold, give me a challenge to look into!)

The majority are crossovers with FFXIV (since the game has so many wonderful ways to displace people) and various other games, shows and anime that I’m familiar with. Yes, I know I’m a nerd, and not everyone will have seen some of these. Proceed below the cut to take a look!

Thanks for coming along on this journey! Here we go!

Souls of Crystal

Crossover: FFXIV: A Realm Reborn (+) & Fairy Tail

Details: Non-WoL, OC, Elezen, Echo-bearer, Sharlayan Scholar/Student of Baldesion, multiple soul crystals. Includes elements of later expansions, potential shipping.

Summary: When the Isle of Val is swept up in a catastrophic maelstrom of aether, wiping it off the map, the losses incurred among those that called it home and sanctuary were nigh incalculable. Yet there were those few spared by the Mothercrystal’s benevolent intercession. One, however, could but be preserved, along with those many souls of stone he had long labored to study, until flesh and soul could find safe harbor from the shifting tides of the Aetherial Sea. What new and strange discoveries await him beyond space and time?

Notes: I’ve always loved Fairy Tail for it’s amazingly varied take on magic, and the more I looked into it, I began to draw similarities between the two worlds as well as the differences, allowing me to introduce potential new effects, as well as some old ones. Definitely an extended endeavor. No spoiling!

To Summon a Scion - Mentor & Apprentice

Crossover: FFXIV: Stormblood & Familiar of Zero

Details: Non-romance, Y’shtola (Conjurer), Louise.

Summary: Across space and time, knowledge has ever been a path of power, of progress. Yet when a young soul cries out to the heavens for a sign, for salvation, for knowledge none else can give her, she is answered. A scholar, plucked from her world without warning after restoring life to a dead land, is thrust into a destiny she did not ask for. Yet fervent pleas do not fall on deaf ears, nor are eyes too blind to see the situation before her. Besides, this girl is nearly as audacious and brilliant as she was at her age...

Notes: Yes, I know Familiar of Zero is one of those quirky, odd harem anime with plenty of frequent fan service. Definitely a bane to some. But looking beyond that, I find that the world building itself is very, very intriguing, from magic to lore, potential for political intrigue to the potential for combat. This rendition would take a more detailed perspective on the culture and intricacies involved, while still including a good bit of the light-hearted feel from comedic elements. And we all know how ‘Shtola takes to ‘romantic gestures’. Poor little sun.

(Alternatively: To Summon a Scion - Guardian) (Details: Non-romance, Thancred, Louise.)

Grimm and Gunblades

Crossover: FFXIV: Shadowbringers & RWBY

Details: Non-WoL, OC, Garlean, Gunbreaker. Potential shipping.

Summary: Kinslayer. Savage. Defector. Traitor. When a proud son of Garlemald becomes disillusioned with the path of bloody conquest, where is he to turn, but to the very savages he once fought to conquer?Armed with the weapons of former enemies, among the storied secrets of the Cartenau Flats riddled with the secrets of Allag, perhaps a soldier could find new purpose... or perhaps new purpose could find him. Shunted across the stars by the crazed creations of a long-dead Empire and with no discernable way to return, he now faces the unknown, and the evils is harbors. At least crystals didn’t seem too different...

Notes: This would be something of a challenge, but I liked the prospect! And let’s face it, a Hrothgar gunblade wouldn’t seem all that weird on Remnant. This one isn’t quite as developed in my head as others, but I wanted to put it out there!

Adventures of Light -- A Star of Warcraft

Crossover: FFXIV: Shadowbringers & Warcraft/ World of Warcraft (Vanilla/Classic)

Details: Warrior of Light, OC, Half-blood (Wildwood-Highlander), Full job mastery.

Summary: You’d think he’d have learned by now to leave some things well enough alone, especially when it came to Allagan ruins. But, once again, he’d allowed Cid’s enthusiasm to stir his adventurous spirit, and this time, their luck ran out. Where did that portal even lead to. and where was he now? It almost looked like Belah’dia. It was time for a new adventure, one unlike the Warrior of Light had ever known, on a new world with new enemies, and new allies. The winds of time were changing, and many would take note. For good, or ill.

Note: Oh BOY, now this would be one hell of an investment in exploring both franchises. Having become distant with retail WoW after Mists of Pandaria and falling hard into FFXIV, I felt it more prudent to visit the roots of WoW with this concept, now readily available with the release of WoW Classic, which I have enjoyed in moderation. And yes, I realize this would be my ‘going ham’ storyline, considering how ridiculous a fully-classed WoL gets at 80. There would still be plenty of challenge, though.

That’s all I have for now! I should note these are basic outlines still, essentialy my first swings at anything of this sort, and will be developed if chosen! Give me all the feedback you want, good or bad! I am at your mercy!

#ooc #fanfiction ideas #follower request #absolutely nervous

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starcunning · 5 years

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Three Weeks, She Sleeps

[Gen][Thancred Waters & The Scions of the Seventh Dawn][WOL (X’shasi Kilntreader)][Feo Ul][Angst][I’m sure about the angst this time][A past relationship between Thancred and X’shasi is alluded to but there’s no real shippy content here][Body horror][Assisted suicide mention][Alcoholism mention][FFXIV 5.0][Takes place during the MSQ quest Extinguishing the Last Light][5.9k words]

This story contains ending/MSQ spoilers for FFXIV expansion 5.0, Shadowbringers.

[AO3 mirror]

Light streams in through her window. That feels wrong—as though the sun should have turned its face away from the world. Even if it had, Thancred knows, it would make no difference. Day and night, the light falls through her windows onto the same spreading rectangle upon her floor. Sitting in it brings no warmth and no peace.

He has dragged the chair from her desk into the center of that bright pool anyway, and there he sits in observation. He is not always alone—in fact, he rarely is—but he is almost always there, for reasons he cannot name, and a few that he can.

Thancred has neither the knowledge nor the contacts to try and find a solution. Unlike most of the Circle of Knowing, he has never been adept with magics—and now less than ever. He understands what is happening, but he needs others to explain it. Y’shtola can see, and Urianger can understand; even the twins can feel something. Ryne can act. All Thancred can do is watch and wait.

The other reason he stays is because he owes it to her. Because she has been so much to him—hero and inspiration and friend and even, for a while, lover—and he cannot bring himself to do anything else. He has been too absent for too long.

Her name is X’shasi Kilntreader—Shasi, sometimes, when they are alone. Not now, even when there is no sound in the room but the beating of his heart. It hurts too much to think of her as Shasi, his Shasi, when she lays stiff and unmoving atop her bed.

It hurts worse when she doesn’t.

She seizes. It takes Thancred by surprise—this is not the first time it has happened, but there is no regularity to it. X’shasi convulses atop her bed and her breathing becomes ragged with panting. Something—not blood; it looks more like meol, though Thancred refuses to follow the thread of that thought—leaks from the corner of her lips or sprays from her gasping mouth. He is afraid then that she will hurt herself, until he remembers that she is already in pain and there is little she could do to injure herself worse than she already has. In the aftermath, Thancred turns her onto her side and holds her head gently until he is certain she is breathing; that she has not choked on her own aspirated Light.

Then he calls for Ryne, and whatever else she might have been doing she abandons to come and bind the Light once more. It taxes her, he knows, but there is no one else to ask. There are shadows beginning to form under her eyes; she looks older than a girl her age has any right to.

X’shasi turned thirty, Thancred remembers, some time after he was called to the First. He isn’t sure if she is thirty still. Either way, she is far too young to die. Ryne may be the end to the endless cycle of reincarnation for the Minfilias, but there’s no guarantee she’ll live much longer than her predecessors.

Then again, if he doesn’t call for Ryne, there’s no guarantee that any of them will live for long.

“Thancred?” Ryne says. He hasn’t even heard her come in. He’s taught her that well, or he’s that preoccupied. He looks up from where he sits on the edge of the bed. X’shasi’s pillow rests atop his knee, and her head atop that. He has laid a hand against her neck to measure her pulse with his thumb. He can feel her heartbeat in his hand. It is as close as they have been in five years or more. “It happened again?” she asks. “The last one was only two days ago.” “They’re getting more frequent,” Thancred says. There is no emotion in his voice. It is as blank as X’shasi’s sleeping face, which he now looks upon once more. “Hold her still,” Ryne says. “I’ll get to work.”

Thancred does, shifting his hand from neck to shoulder and anchoring her upon her side. Ryne kneels beside the bed and closes her eyes. She stretches out one hand, feeling at something Thancred can’t even see. She does not look much like Minfilia anymore, except in moments like this when she bows her head and prays. Then it is as though he is still a young man, newly come to Ul’dah, unsure how to care for the girl he orphaned.

He has orphaned this one too, he knows. He stole her from Ran’jit and now has seen the man killed. It is far more direct even than his role in Warburton’s death, and while he does not regret it he thinks he may never see the end of repenting for it. He tries not to let the turmoil show on his face. He has long practice at that.

What Ryne does requires a type of sight he does not possess—or a pair of goggles he left on the Source. As she works he can see the signs, though. X’shasi’s breathing deepens, becomes more even. Her muscles no longer tense with pain. Ryne holds X’shasi’s hand between both of her own a long moment, looking down at the signet ring she wears. Then she withdraws and stands. Thancred carefully rolls X’shasi to her back and adjusts her pillow.

White stains her chin, spatters her clothing. The bedsheets, too, are drenched. He offers Ryne his hand, and leads her out with him into the hallway. A chirurgeon from Spagyrics waits there. “Another incident. She’ll need a change,” he says. “I’ll attend to her,” the chirurgeon says.

Thancred only nods, and shepherds Ryne further down the hall, back to her own apartments. The door is still ajar, speaking to the haste she must have left in, but Ryne balks at the threshold. “She’s getting worse,” Ryne says. “Isn’t she.” Thancred looks down at the girl and longs to lie. Instead he nods once. Ryne lets go of his hand, balling hers into a fist at her side. “I don’t know what more I can do,” she says. Thancred glances back the way they had come, and is surprised to find no one looking on at this outcry. He gently places his hand atop Ryne’s head a moment, and then steps past her and into her apartment. “Come on,” he coaxes. She follows a moment later, shutting the door after herself. Her room is neat, organized; the door to his suite hangs open, revealing that his is a great deal less so, as untidy as his thoughts. “I wish Minfilia were here instead of me,” she says. “Well, I don’t,” Thancred tells her. “She would know what to do! She could save her. She could save everyone, and I … can’t.” “Ryne,” he says, sitting down at the table and indicating to her to sit opposite. “I’m sorry.” Ryne sinks into her seat and just stares at him. “I don’t think Minfilia would know what to do any more than you do,” Thancred says. “I certainly don’t. It’s not fair that you have to deal with this.” “I want to deal with this,” Ryne says. “I want to just fix it! Minfilia could fix it. X’shasi could fix it! I’m not good enough.”

Thancred finds a deeper ache than the one that has pervaded for the last sennight. He welcomes the pain, perverse as he knows the impulse to be, because it is a novelty. Because something is changing, at least. Then he masters it and reaches out to pat Ryne’s arm gently. “You’re doing your best,” he says. “You’re doing more than should ever have been asked of you. I know it’s my fault that you think that’s not good enough.” “Just tell me she’s going to be okay,” Ryne pleads. The lie rises to his lips. He wants to tell it. He wants to believe it. He wants the act of his speaking it to somehow make it the truth. He says, “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure she’s alright.”

Ryne stands, her arm slipping from beneath his hand. He thinks she might storm away, but instead she flings herself at him, burying her face against his chest. Thancred freezes for a moment, and then he wraps an arm around her, stroking her hair with his other hand. “It’s okay if it’s too much,” he says. “You should be able to live a normal life.” “She told me over and over that it was my choice,” Ryne sobs. “But if that’s true then I’m always going to choose to try to help her.” “That’s all anyone can ever ask of you,” Thancred says. “There has to be an answer somewhere. Our friends are going to find it. You have to believe that.” No matter how hard it gets.

– – – – –

Thancred paces his room. It is the same as it was a moon ago, but for the light outside. It contains all the same amusements and distractions as ever, but lacks the things that tempt him most. This is on purpose, of course, and so far has been sufficient. But the Wandering Stairs are never far. Three times already he has put his hand on the doorknob, ready to go out, and thrice he has retreated.

He does not know if he has the strength to resist making a fourth attempt. So he puts himself as far from the door as he can, sitting on the cushioned bench beneath his window. He throws it open and is greeted by harsh light and the smell of stale air. His windowbox plants are a bit rangy-looking—most have dropped their flowers, which wither in the pots below, and some of the leaves have discolored.

Of course. Preoccupied as he’s been with everything else, he’s forgotten—these are varietals from before the Flood, planted with seeds from the Hortorium after night returned to Lakeland. They are as unhappy with the return of the all-enduring light as anyone else.

One by one he drags them in and sets them on his dinner table. It’s not as though he’s been eating at it in any case, but he sits down and resolves to tend to these plants as though he expects to see them bloom again.

He picks the weathered trumpetflowers from the soil of its pot, tossing them into a spare bowl. A few blooms still cling to the shrub, but these are withered and browning, their scent less a delicate perfume and more like fruit gone to rot. He plucks these too, along with the discolored leaves. The shrub looks stunted beneath his hands, its bare branches knobby and pathetic. He rises to find the shears, and in the midst of his pruning he hears the sound of laughter.

“Such care for a poison tree!” “I’m in no mood for pixie pranks, your Majesty,” Thancred says. Feo Ul’s wings tinkle like bells as they flit about his shoulders. “But of course not,” they say. “Your saplings are not the only ones withering under too much Light.” “I am well aware,” Thancred says. He grasps his composure and his tools more tightly, lest the faerie king drive him to drink after all. “Oh, but these are alright,” the king says, settling on the rim of a pot of crocuses. “Growing plants that nourish and plants that poison side-by-side … how reckless! How like a mortal.” It takes a great deal of effort to turn his thoughts from the idea of clipping those gossamer wings in his annoyance. “What do you want, Feo Ul?” “I want nothing,” the pixie says. “I came to give you something! A report from Garlemald. My lady Tataru seemed to think it best trusted to you, if you would care to receive it. Or were you sulking?” “No,” he lies. “Who is it from?” He is quite certain he knows the answer. “Why, the Crown Prince, of course,” Feo Ul replies, aflutter once more. They flit to the next pot and begin to pull sun-scorched leaves from the plant there, tossing them about in a cascade of pink and brown. “Now this one,” Feo Ul says, “is neither food nor poison. Why grow it?” Thancred has no ready answer. After a moment he says, “She gave you back the night. I thought the least I could do was give back its flowers.” “Ah, for love’s sake,” Feo Ul says, “or beauty’s.” “I—” Thancred protests. The faerie king continues undeterred. “You do still have a good heart, then.” Rather than comment on that, Thancred uses his pruning shears to cut the branches he’s severed into mulch. “The report, if you please.”

“The Princeling says that he has arrived in the city and found Asina’s old workshop empty. The First Legion have been recalled in force.” Feo Ul goes on like this with their task as does Thancred with his; when they are done Thancred has a few cups of mulch for the compost heap and a more complete understanding of Garlean troop dispositions than he has in five years. “This report was meant for Tataru?” he asks. “No,” Feo Ul replies. “Not primarily, although I had been instructed to give it to her as well.” “Galvus asked that of you?” Feo Ul shakes their diminutive head. “My sapling bid me do so, but since she was in no position to issue orders as she usually does, I asked Tataru. She suggested I ask you. ‘It’s what X’shasi would want,’ she said.” That takes him by surprise for a moment—and then surprise fades and he admits it only makes sense. X’shasi has been fighting some covert, proxy war in Garlemald for moons—trying to keep the pressure off the Alliance, no doubt—but he hasn’t been part of it. Still, with X’shasi out of the picture, he’s the one most fit for the responsibility, though he’s not at all sure he can hold the leash. “Does Galvus know about her condition?” “I never saw fit to mention it,” Feo Ul says. There is pixie mischief in the king’s tone. “Don’t,” Thancred says, “and won’t he be so surprised when he finds out his instructions came from me.”

Thancred can only hope he’s out of sword-reach when he does. He issues the instructions anyway, his heart leaden, and then he says, “What if she never wakes up?” “Do not say such heartless things,” Feo Ul demands, and the furor of a ruler is not diminished overmuch by the fact that the king stands a fulm high at most. “Is there anything you could do for her?” “No,” the pixie admits. “I could save the world, but not her. We could force the crown upon her and bind her to the castle, as we did the last Titania, or I could turn her into the adorable sapling she has always been. Would you tend her as you do this garden?” Feo Ul wonders. “There is relief there, to care for her until she flowers; to eat of the fruit of her branches; to sleep forever beneath the shade of her boughs.” Of course a faerie would think so. What shocks Thancred is that he thinks so, too. But he can’t afford to—Emet-Selch is not much like Lahabrea, he supposes, but he will not leave that door open just the same. “If she starts to change,” Thancred says, “will you answer my call?” “For my sapling’s sake, I would do all you asked,” Feo Ul says. “Well,” Thancred says, “go to her sleeping prince, then.”

Feo Ul does, and Thancred is left with his garden—stunted and only dubiously saved—and a bowl of things he must now leave to rot.

– – – – –

Y’shtola is not happy to have returned to the Crystarium. Thancred suspects in part that she might not have come in person at all if the master of the Tower were not absent—and while he would never accuse his friend of delighting in the misfortune that surrounds them, he finds he cannot blame her either. After all, she had been right to be suspicious.

“How are things in Slitherbough?” he asks. “Perhaps not so dire as you may expect,” Shtola replies. “The Night’s Blessed have seen the stars, and to lose them has not dashed their hope but steeled their resolve instead. But there were no answers there. Nor in Fanow, where I also chanced to inquire.” “I suppose if it were that easy,” Thancred says, “they would have turned back the Flood long before.” “How are things here?” Shtola asks. “The same,” Thancred says. “So: worse. I’ve had to field a dozen enquiries as to the why of it all, and can come up with no more convincing lie than ‘we don’t know.’” “We are in dire straits if you cannot spin some yarn or another,” Shtola says.

Her needling should bother him, perhaps. From anyone else, it might. If not that, it might comfort him, but it does not do that either—he is vaguely aware of it, and that is all. No thought follows from the first one, much as he refuses to come to any conclusion about the white blood he has seen stain dark lips all too often.

“Does it hurt, to look on her?” Thancred asks softly. Shtola nods once, but does not turn her face away from the bed. “Like staring into the sun,” she whispers. “And yet I cannot bear the thought of looking away.” She does not finish the thought, and does not need to. Thancred only nods in reply. “I could see her well before I entered the city,” Shtola says. “Like the beacon at Pharos Sirius, or the wellspring of aether beneath Silvertear Lake. I could have guided my amaro by her light from malms away. Something happened yesterday?” “Mm,” Thancred says. “Another seizure. Ryne took care of it.” “The sky …” Shtola takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “The sky is always burning,” she says, “but it was like the backdrafts that tore through the Castrum all those years ago. Around eight bells or so.” “You could see it from there?” Thancred says, and curses. “We are running out of time, then.” “And options,” Shtola says grimly.

They sit there in silence. It should be companionable—they have been friends more than half his life, and for who knows what proportion of hers—but it is merely silence, smothered by the stillness of Light.

“One thought has occurred to me,” Shtola says after a long moment, “though I fear if I should tell it to you now you will try to dissuade me.” “Then why mention it at all?” Thancred wonders, the words bitter on his tongue. “I am not half so fascinated by secrets as our friend Urianger,” she says. “And moreover, it is not exactly a novelty. If I tell you my plan, I expect you to hear all of it.” Thancred sets his teeth a moment. He has an inkling. “Should we ever make it back to the Source, I am going to have words with Master Matoya,” he says. “So, despite my injunction to hear me out, you’ve already drawn your conclusions. G’raha’s theory was sound,” Shtola tells him. “If I draw her into the Lifestream with me, she poses no danger here.” “There are no Elementals or convenient Ascians to save you this time, Shtola!” Thancred snaps. “I do not expect to be saved,” she says. “You can’t honestly expect me to just accept this as the plan.” “Do you have a better one?” Shtola asks.

The silence answers for him.

– – – – –

He returns in the days that follow, knowing that he will continue to do so; tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, until she wakes or until she dies. To the last syllable of recorded time. His shadow when he sits falls ever the same way across the floor. It stops just short of the edge of her bed with its freshly-changed sheets, crisply folded and neatly tucked, stiff as the unmoving thing atop it.

Even as a shade he does not touch her. He is a fool, he knows.

A greater fool than he enters the room, his soft footsteps all but lost in the chiming sound of the chains that dangle from his garb. Urianger Augurelt has always been the smartest man in the Scions, and Louisoix’s most trusted agent, and the most damnable idiot of all of them.

“Good morning,” Urianger says. Thancred’s gaze hardens. He says nothing. If the astrologian notices, he gives no sign. It is only then that Thancred realizes that Urianger is not speaking to him, and has expected no answer. Thancred stands, suddenly restless, and his eyes and Urianger’s meet for a moment. The frisson of anger that passes over him, through him, leaves his jaw tight and brow furrowed. He stalks from the chair to the window and throws it open to the incongruous sound of birdsong in the mountains beyond.

There is a soft scraping sound of metal on stone, and when Thancred looks back, Urianger has dragged the chair from that patch of direct light so that he may sit at X’shasi’s bedside. He takes her inert hand in his, clasping it between his long fingers. The Elezen’s face is a mask of anguish, and for some reason this casual intimacy between them pricks him.

“What news from Il Mheg?” Thancred asks, as though this tableau does not matter to him at all. He turns away again, leaning out the window. X’shasi’s window box is a collection of sun-bleached pots and scorched soil, the flowers that had once decorated it long since withered. “Little to hearten, I fear,” Urianger says. “The pixies spoke only of their own powerlessness in the face of their erstwhile king’s transformation, though the nu mou told somewhat of a different tale.” Thancred reaches out to take up a handful of dirt. It is desiccated and crumbles in his hands, taken by the winds in a trailing plume as he lets it fall. He could replant these flowers, he thinks, but to what end? The person they are meant for will never see them. “What, did they offer to change her into a mushroom?” “No,” Urianger says, “but they spoke of a knight of Voeburt changed to a leafman rather than a sin eater.” “Feo Ul suggested something like that,” Thancred murmurs, casting the last of the dirt back into the pot with a disgusted flick of his hand. He is tilling soil that will bear no harvest. “I’m beginning to think it’s our best option.” Certainly better than losing Y’shtola to her Flow.

“Thou wouldst sacrifice her so readily?” Urianger asks. Thancred can feel his gaze upon his back, the note of surprise in his voice making it tight. “If she does not recover on her own, of which she gives no sign, we will have to start considering the practical options,” Thancred says. He cannot look back at Urianger, so he busies himself with washing his dirty hands and rifling through X’shasi’s pantry. It is all but untouched, most things even unopened, and Thancred begins to suspect that the past few weeks are the most time she has spent here since her arrival. “Shtola has offered up a plan of her own, but I don’t see why it should fall to her to sacrifice herself. The way I see it, it’s either me or you, and of the two of us you’ve a better chance of learning the intricacies of Flow.” “Wherefore comest thou by this conclusion?” Urianger asks. Thancred pauses in straightening the labels of the untouched spices in a rack. “It began with me,” he says. “It should end with me. And you …” He turns back to that hateful tableau.

“This whole situation is your fault,” Thancred says. Urianger says nothing, only purses his lips. “This was your great plan to save the world,” Thancred continues. “This has been your affair for years. You sacrificed Minfilia to this ambition readily enough, and G’raha, and now her. Don’t you think you should bear some portion of the burden yourself, now that your gambits have failed?” Urianger, he of so many words, is silent. He bows his head, looking down upon the hand clasped in his own—the one he won’t let go of. Envy flares in Thancred anew at the sight; it should be him, he thinks. It has not escaped his notice how close the pair have grown in their time on the First. Thick as thieves, which is an irony, as they two are far more virtuous.

Perhaps virtue is the problem.

It is not, he imagines, that they are lovers—and if they were, could he really object, after the things he’s done?—but ever since his calling, Thancred has been estranged from her. Her presence on the First has done less than he hoped to remedy that, and he despairs of ever getting the chance. How can he make amends, after all, with her sleeping form?

With a tree? With nothing at all?

“The pixies had no knowledge to aid me, nor the nu mou, nor the Amaro,” Urianger says. “The wisdom of Voeburt is rotted away, and if the fuath came to know any of it they did not grant it me. Mayhap the answer is within the Tower; ’twas not the Students of Baldesion that would have taught G’raha to make a vessel of the self. Moenbryda’s siphon,” he says, “would be a starting point.” He sighs, turning his face away. “Would that I could change your stars,” Urianger whispers.

“So that’s it,” Thancred says. “You’re going to lock yourself away in the Tower in the hopes there’s an answer in some ancient book, while the rest of us struggle on in the real world. How like you.” “My apologies that my stewardship of the Waking Sands was not exciting enough for thy liking,” Urianger says. “It is perverse that a sage of Sharlayan should so disdain scholarship.” “It’s not scholarship I mind,” Thancred says. “You’re running from your responsibilities to yet another library. You might regret it someday, should you ever come down from your ivory tower.” “Thou knowest little enough about my life, to say naught of my regrets,” Urianger replies. “Moreover, at least I would go in hope that an answer might be found. What occupiest thee, as thou keep thy silent vigil?” “The same question that occupies us all,” Thancred says. “How we’re all going to make it out of this alive.” “Nay,” Urianger says. “Thou hast relinquished that hope, all too willingly, as thou hast abandoned her company.” “I haven’t abandoned anything,” Thancred protests. “I’m here every day to look after her.”

Urianger only looks at him a long while, the scholar’s soft hands locked around X’shasi’s. At length he stands, gently patting her knuckles and laying her arm across her chest as though she merely sleeps. Then he carries the chair back to its place in the light, setting it down with another pointed look, and quits the room.

Thancred sits uneasily in the still-warm chair. His shadow does not reach the bed. It will never touch her.

– – – – –

Four people makes the room crowded, even if one of them is inert. Since she is not awake to eat on her own, Spagyrics has her hooked up to tubes. The sludge they feed her is off-white, and the three living people in the room cannot stand to watch her fed it. The memory is too fresh, and the twins are too young to bear it easily. Instead the three of them sit at the table on the far side of the room, taking a meal of their own—more traditional but no less bland.

Perhaps it is merely that food has lost its savor, but he watches Alisaie push the food around her plate only so long before he turns his attention from that too. He never expected much from them, in truth, though he thinks better than to say so. The twins have done their best; that much is not in dispute. But the Scions had all come from Kholusia, and if there were secrets to be wrenched from the distant islands, they might have managed it before they left. Amh Araeng, too, has given up as much as it’s going to, and the Inn at Journey’s Head employs ever the same tactics.

He looks down at his bowl, at the mess of lentils and cured meats—odds and ends preserved with salt and stretched with easy grains to grow and a handful of herbs. He knows a bit about making food last, but this is far more elegant. It occurs to him there’s something he should know and doesn’t. “What,” Thancred says, “does X’shasi like to eat?” “Hot chocolate,” Alphinaud volunteers. “Haurchefant would—” “Not another word,” Alisaie interrupts. She sets down her fork very deliberately, not looking at Thancred nor her twin brother. Alphinaud smiles, the long-suffering smile of a put-upon sibling. The pair have had their spats in the years since their arrival here, but it has always been playful. Thancred can see that this is not; Alphinaud seems to be meeting his sister’s ardor with his usual good humor. “I suppose that’s not really food.” “We’re not discussing this!” Alisaie’s tone is strident, her delicate hands curled into fists at the edge of the table. “I’m not going to just let you poison her,” she says. When she lifts her gaze to stare Thancred down, her blue eyes are sharp as daggers. Realization catches up with Alphinaud, and he reaches out to set a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I don’t think anybody really wants to do that,” he says. “Least of all Thancred.” “He’s right about that, at least,” Thancred offers, though his voice betrays him—too subdued, too resigned. So he might as well say the rest. “But I will if I have to.” There’s no sense obfuscating the truth. They are Louisoix’s grandchildren, and have his talent for sniffing out a lie. Besides, they’ve seen and done enough that it’s not a mercy to spare them but a denial of their role in things.

Or perhaps Thancred has never been able to be alone in his grief, and simply wants the excuse to drag everyone else into it.

“Why not kill her weeks ago, then,” Alisaie wonders. “You had plenty of opportunity, with the rest of us chasing our hopes.” Thancred flinches, because he’s asked himself the same question. “I don’t relish the thought,” he said. “But I do have to entertain it.” “You were traveling when it happened,” Alphinaud says, “so you never got to see us have this same conversation about Thancred.” “What,” Alisaie squawks, “because of Lahabrea?” Thancred nods. “There was never a plan to save me. We didn’t know it could be done.” “Well, it could! And we did! And we’re going to save her, too.” Alisaie’s voice grows quieter but more resolute as she speaks. “Right now there’s no hope of that unless she wakes up,” Thancred says. “And even then, we don’t know what to do. Unless you think we should go to the Tempest without her and try to rescue the Exarch?” “That’s exactly what I think we should do,” Alisaie said. “Getting to the bottom of the ocean presents a few logistical problems,” Alphinaud points out. “Like breathing, for one.” “Not a problem for me,” Alisaie says, waving him off. “You can’t just do this alone,” he says. “Then you’d better get started on the logistics, hadn’t you?” Alphinaud balks a moment, glancing from his sister to Thancred and back again, but he seems to read something in the set of his twin’s elfin jaw that tells him the same thing Thancred sees: that Alisaie needs a private word. Although it’s foolish to fear a girl—no, a young woman—half his age, there is a twinge of nervousness in Thancred’s heart just the same. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he says.

The door shuts behind him. Somehow three is easier to bear than four; it is even more welcome than two, despite the forbidding set of her brow. “You were the first to fall, you know,” Alisaie says, rising from her seat. “Doubtless you understood that when you were the first to arrive here.” “Second,” Thancred says. Standing, he continues, “Minfilia was the first.” “Minfilia went of her own accord. Even unto the aetherial sea.” Alisaie stacks her dishes and steps away from the table, crossing to the bedside. “She told me about it,” she says, nodding at Shasi’s sleeping form. The tube by which she was fed ran clear now, water washing away the remnants of her meal and filling her belly. Even an inert body had its needs.

“So I was first. It doesn’t change anything.” “It changed her,” Alisaie said. “She tried her best not to let it show, especially after Y’shtola and Urianger were called—with so few of us left, I think she was concerned about scaring me, but … whenever she could, whenever her duties allowed, she was off searching for an answer. She sent Arya to look for X’rhun and see if he thought this was something like the blood-curse they’d dispelled; she sent Shpoki to Master Matoya and called the Sons of Saint Coinach. She visited the alchemists and the thaumaturges and the conjurers. Everyone she could conceive of that might possibly have an answer, and when we ran out of leads …” Alisaie shook her head. “When there was nothing left to chase, she came back to the Rising Stones—to watch over you all, she said, but she always sat in the same place.” Alisaie turns her face up to regard him. He cannot tell whether she wants to be hard or soft; there is recrimination in the set of her brow but pity in the trembling of her lips. Her eyes are bright with tears. “Next to you.”

There is a terrible symmetry, he realizes. To everything. But he doesn’t know how to say that. All he can say is “Alisaie,” and then she is speaking again. “She has given up so much of herself to the cause—to all of us—to you. If my only hope is at the bottom of the ocean, then I suppose I know now why the kami blessed me all that time ago.” “You really think that you can face down an Ascian alone?” Thancred asks. “I’m a strong swimmer, but I can’t hold my breath nearly that long.” “If I have to do it alone, I will,” Alisaie says. “She did it for me. She deserves more than our resignation to inevitability. Fate turns ever on a capricious spindle, after all.” “It’s the slenderest chance,” Thancred says. “The odds get better with everyone who helps me,” Alisaie replies. “My brother seems happy to be part of it. Would you go with me? Or are you going to stay here and wait for the worst to happen?”

That wasn’t who he was. How could he have forgotten? His life had been a series of impossible odds, and no one ever beat the house at the Platinum Mirage by paying the blinds every round and doing nothing. There was still darkness at the bottom of the sea, if the Ascian had retreated there. They could find it and bring it back—and the Exarch along with it—and if she could not save herself, Thancred would save her or die trying.

It was what she would do. It was what she had done.

It was the least she deserved.

#ff14 #x'shasi #thancred waters #ff14 spoilers #shadowbringers spoilers #5.0 spoilers #original content #starcunning writes #fanservice friday #fan DISSERVICE friday #several of my most treasured thancred headcanons on display #such as:#he's a recovering alcoholic #he likes to garden #he's bisexual #okay he addresses that last thing a lot more directly in 'Water'

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blueyemxn · 5 years

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My Persephone (Pt. 5)

A Broken Exchange

Spoiler Warning: Content below contains spoilers for the lvl 80 Shadowbringers MSQ, if you have not reached this point in the game and do not wish to be spoiled please refrain from reading. Otherwise enjoy my trash shipping at your own risk.

Relationship: Emet-SelchxWoL

Ao3 Story - Here Part One: Here Part Two: Here Part Three: Here Part Four: Here Part Six: Here

“This really is unexceptionable. I gave you very specific instructions.”

He lumbered sluggishly, still slouched over as he approached the Warrior of Darkness and her companions, eyes ever downcast in disappointment. Disappointment in her, that she would dare share this ancient ground with others. That she would bring her friends to a place only special to themselves. He had known from the moment they stepped into Amaurot that she wasn’t alone, and yet now he complains about it? How so… him.

“Emet-Selch.” There came a growl from Alphinaud, but Nua paid him no mind, her eyes focused on the Ascian before her.

She took a step, then two, then three and suddenly she was there in front of him, so close that if she took a deep breath their bodies would touch. “Last I checked I didn’t need your permission to do anything, least of all to bring them at my final hours.”

Her eyes bore into him, challenging his golden stare that didn’t change from its disapproving glance.

Her chest tightened; she hated it when he looked at her like that, like he was trying to make her feel guilty. “Though, all things considered, I did try to come alone, seems my friends are just as stubborn as I.”

“As if we’d let you confront this bastard alone in the state you’re in,” Thancred said as she heard a click from his gunblade. Cute, but Nua didn’t find it necessary, though it warmed her heart to know they cared about her that much. To risk themselves like this when she was about to turn and probably devour them all.

“No matter. In the end my invitation was for an abomination, a being ripe with power to bring about this shard’s annihilation. Not this half-broken… thing. Whatever am I to do with you?” He asked mockingly, the last of his words ending in a sneer as he continued to stare down with condescension. She glared back, the word broken echoing within the realm of her mind, digging itself into her heart.

Broken.

“I’m nothing but broken.”

“Such an odd thing to say, it’s something Emet-Selch would surely debate against.”

“Only because he doesn’t know.”

“You’d be surprised. He may not speak about such things, but he knows, he always knows.”

Cracks began to form beneath her feet, splitting the marble as the beast within grows restless. Her fingers dug into her arms, twitching as she was given the overwhelming desire to slap him across the face with such force his head would come clean off. The only thing that stopped her was a tug at the heart, a long forgotten devotion to a man who wasn’t himself anymore.

“It took a painstakingly long time to make that and here you are breaking it into pieces. Are you already so far gone that you can’t control yourself?” There came a long, drawn out sigh from his lips as he looked down to the floor with a bored expression before those orbs of ichor went back to hers.

Her eyebrow twitched and she opened her mouth to say something.

“You’re not going to let him get to you that easily, are you?” Ardbert asked, walking next to her. “He knows nothing about you, nothing about this world. He does not have the right to dictate who lives and who dies. It stands to reason he shouldn’t dictate how you feel, right?” There was a warmth in his voice, as if he were smiling, but Nua dared not break her eye contact with Emet-Selch to look.

Her shard was right though, giving into her anger would just fuel the rapidly encroaching light within her soul. She had to stave it off as much as possible. And she refused to let the bastard have the satisfaction of tipping her over the edge just because he knew how to push her buttons.

For a moment she closed her eyes and in that time did the cracks stop and the air went back to normal. She opened them slightly to give off the same bored expression he had. “As if I’d get angry over the lies that spew out of your mouth; please.” She scoffed, half turning away.

“As I’ve stated before, hero, I have not uttered a single lie through this entire endeavor; about you least of all. You are what your are, a broken shell, a shattered remnant of what once was and what will be again once the one true god is resurrected.”

“And how, pray tell, do you intend to bring back the dead? Even a god as powerful as yours couldn’t simply bring back every single one of your people without something drastic in return.” Y’shtola noted, hardened glance on Emet-Selch to see if he had an answer. Such a request was hardly an easy task and even Hydaelyn had no such ability to reanimate, though that was never her intended purpose.

Suddenly he smirked and he lifted his arms as if he were preaching the holy word of the one true God. “Once all the worlds have rejoined, we Ascians are to offer up the Source’s remaining inhabitants in sacrifice, that we might resurrect our brethren who died to bring Zodiark into existence. And thus, everything will go back to the way it was, the way it was meant to be.” He spoke with such lavish and conviction, a duty he was wholly dedicated to no matter what it took to achieve such an end. He had dedicated eons to restoring his people and if the First could be rejoined he was one step closer to that goal. Or at least he thought.

The room stiffened and Nua cursed under her breath as a result of this madness. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She muttered, though she knew very well that he was not. “Back the way it was meant to be? Nothing is going to go back to the way it was ‘supposed’ to be, not after this. When everyone finds out you’ve killed billions just to bring them back to a doomed world, they will look up to you in horror.”

“You do not kn--”

“I know enough!” She turned to face him again, a very stern look on her face as she tried to keep her temper at bay even when she was hearing such nonsense coming out of his mouth. “I may not have all of my memories but I have enough to recount the tear between our people when you and the rest of the Convocation kept spilling blood for your god. How were we to safeguard the future of our people when you were butchering them in the present?!”

“This can’t keep going, Emet-Selch, too many lives have already been lost.”

“We don’t have a choice, Zodiark needs more sacrifices so that he may restore the star.”

“Are you so blind that you don’t realize that it's killing the few we have left? We will have no future at this rate.”

“Fandaniel we’re doing the best we can. Zodiark is the star itself, it knows what it needs. Just a little bit more, he just needs a little bit more and everyone will--”

“Even if he does decide to finally answer our wishes, there will be nothing left for them but a city full of ghosts.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find a better solution.”

“Nothing good has ever come out of sacrificing those to a primal and Zodiark is no different.” Nua felt her chest congest as she waited for Emet-Selch’s response, waiting for him to show something, anything. But the bastard was never one to give what she would have wanted, no, he just decided to be his usual uncaring self as he shook his head.

“Even now, after everything, you refuse to listen to reason. You think that it's unfair that you are subject to suffering? That your lives will be sacrificed for the ancients?”

“Of--”

“Look at me!” He demanded as his voice became unmasked and raw while he grabbed at her arm, forcing her to close the small gap between their bodies. “I have lived a thousand thousand of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old! Sired children and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace. For eons have I measured your worth and found you wanting! Too weak and feeble-minded to serve as stewards of any star!” His voice trembled as the one unoccupied hand shook with heated frustration as the other holding her in place squeezed with unnatural strength.

Nua did not flinch, not until she felt his soul again, caressing at her, snapping at the edges of her confines as gut-wrenching disgust vibrated through her being. She nearly buckled, feeling the hopelessness he felt for the inhabitants of the Source and the Shards.

Not worthy. They cannot hope to be so. They are not our legacy. They are weak. They are feeble. Not worthy. notworthynotworthyNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHYNOTWORTHY--

The words spiraled out of control, filling her mind with endless chattering. She could hear her friends in the background shouting, but what she could not understand, nor was there any reason to. Slowly did she put up a hand, bidding them to cease, hoping that they wouldn’t be so foolish as to try and fight when it was obvious that the only person who could ever hope to stand up to Emet-Selch was her.

Then her soul screeched back, pushing back against his, stubbornly unmoving, unyielding.

They are worthy. They can do this. We can do this. Give us a chance. We are strong. We can persevere. We are ALIVE! WE ARE WORTHY!

She intensified her feelings as much as she could; not that that said much. It was difficult due to most of her memories missing and unused to using her soul in this way. When she saw the small amount of amusement on his face, she knew that her efforts were anything but effective.

“Have you not learned that your ignorance and frailty begets only endless misery?” His voice, though soft, managed to drown out all possible others, causing them to grow quiet and still as his smile faded away. “How long do you mean to perpetuate this farce? How much more must I endure your bumbling interference?” Emet-Selch looked to her, eyes boring into her own, though she had a feeling that he wasn’t talking to her, not directly. He closed them briefly, seemingly contemplating before his eyes met with her other companions.

“Even if the world were to face true annihilation once more, do you honestly believe that half your number would sacrifice themselves to save the other? Of course they wouldn’t. And if you had witnessed history unfold as I have, you would have reached the same conclusion.” He said, still continuing his lecture in a softer version of his voice; of which he was not entirely wrong.

A quiet sigh left his lips and his grip on her loosened enough where she could easily pull away; she did not. “I will bring back our brethren. Our Friends. Our loved ones. The world belongs to us and us alone.”

I promise, Persephone.

His fingers slowly loosened before lazily falling away before he turned his back to her, perhaps unable to gaze at her any longer, tired of fighting and tired of not being able to get his point across. Those words of his, that were meant for her hearing only, echoing in her mind as he started to walk away.

Hades!

Her soul reached out when verbal words would not, trying to coax him out of this fantasy he had been planning to bring about for eons. But he ignored her, heading out towards the door.

“Emet-Selch!” Amidst the buckling silence did Alphinaud manage to find his voice where Nua or the others could not. While the boy looked pained, his resolve was clear within his stable voice. “We understand. Truly. But it makes no difference. The ones you love are in the past. While ours are here in the present. One day, we too will be ashes and dust, but not today. Our time is not yet finished. We share your conviction… and that is why we will not abandon our course.”

Such a way with words; Alphinaud was always better at them than Nua ever hoped to be. She thought actions were better; to feel, taste, breath, hear and see then to listen to a person speak words that were only made to impress others. Alphie managed that and more most of the time, but knowing Emet-Selch, knowing her Hades, it would not be possible. He was dedicated, he was so filled with insurmountable love that he would do insurmountable atrocities to achieve them.

Emet-Selch was silent, standing there, arms loosely hanging at his sides, posture slouched as if something heavy was weighing them down. At first Nua thought he would not bother arguing further, but then she felt fire. There was no heat, but she could feel something burning from him, his soul flickering and intensifying. She knew it well; the uncontainable rage that threatened to overtake one’s being. His back straightened slightly and Nua felt her gut clench.

“You think us the same? You think your tattered soul of equal worth to those I lost?” His head turned ever so slightly, golden eyes constricted as he gritted his teeth. “Then come-- earn your place. Prove yourselves worthy to inherit this star.” The burning pulsed, but within that flame of resentment Nua could feel a deep wound, a hurting chasm that could not be filled or healed. A grief that would not allow itself to be overcome.

And before them the golden doors opened, revealing a wall of fire and beyond a crumbling city full of despair, hopelessness and death.

“Behold, the coming oblivion. T’was the end of our era, and the beginning of our great work. A fitting backdrop… for your final judgement.”

#ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #5.0 spoilers #emet-selch #|| drabble

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kaerran · 2 years

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#11 Free Day - Speculate

[speculate was #7 in 2021. i WAS going to continue yesterday's but my mind just completely blanked when i went to put words down sooooo ancient background instead. shb 80 spoilers i guess???]

Once there were a pair of Ancients who decided it felt Right to have some children. Neither of their life purposes focused on families, but they both agreed they both wanted it anyway.

They were both surprised when they welcomed their twins into the world.

It is not uncommon for children to take some time to decide on things like appearance and gender, but the twins settled on their preferences quite quickly.

They were then given the names Hades and Hythlodaeus.

As they grew older, their parents came to understand that while they share the gift of soul sight, but while Hades had quite large aether reserves, Hythlodaeus... did not. Still, they did their best to help their sons learn how to cope, since an abundance of aether could easily lead to mistakes and Hythlodaeus needed to learn ways to cope.

And eventually, they welcomed a third child into their lives.

Both Hades and Hythlodaeus were excited to meet their new sibling, but they took longer than their brothers to settle, but where both twins had chosen to be male, their sibling chose no gender.

Their parents named them Hero.

Hero did not have their brothers' soul sight, but shared Hades's large aether reserves, and eventually was shown to have a gift of prophecy, altho Hero did not seem particularly invested in developing it further.

The three siblings loved each other dearly, and slowly solidifed into a truly impressive team when they worked together.

Eventually, Hythlodaeus found a position in the Bureau of the Architect, where he quickly excelled, and Hero found themself unexpectedly adopted into a mentorship by the distinguised Azem herself.

Their parents knew they had done well by their children indeed.

[ok so. why hero? partially there's a delicious irony there for when emet-selch says "My world will have no need for heroes." partially i really wanted another h name to go with hades and hythlodaeus. and partially i still remember my greek and roman studies class on technology and hearing the name "hero of alexandria" and going "really? HERO?". and partially hero is just about the only somewhat gender neutral greek name i know. hero of alexandria was previously regularly transliterated as heron instead, and wiki lists his spelling as "Ἥρων", whereas hero from the myth of hero and lysander is a priestess of aphrodite and it's spelled "Ἡρώ" which is a whole less character :V but what can you do. anyway hero of alexandria was a really cool dude who invented the vending machine, a bunch of wind-worked devices, a self-filling wine bowl, a bunch of automatons including a full play, and a (n utterly useless) steam engine. hero and lysander is only known for sleeping with a dude who swam across a straight every day until one day he drowned and she committed suicide. yeahhhhhhh no thanks.

and why siblings? well emet-selch REALLY overreacted to alphinaud telling him off and trying to protect alisaie in shadowbringers (quest) so me and my partner discussed it a bit trying to figure out why. my brain got stuck on “well obviously he’s a twin” and the obvious other twin was either hythlo or at-the-time-unnamed azem. and then i just kinda went with it instead of with a qpr poly trio. that’s probably the backstory of one of my other alts]

#ffxivwrite2022 #qahs'a jaab

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faelune-home · 4 years

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FFXIV Write 2020 #17 - Fade

(A/N: A short and sweet one. I wanted to add more, another scene later in the game as a kinda evolution of the relationship between these two, but the way I ended this here felt perfect. Maybe another time, cos I do want to explore more of the growing relationship I have for miqo!Fufu and Ardbert :D

Early Shadowbringers, post-Holminster Switch.

Word count: 677

@ffxiv-writers)

After the harsh unnatural glare of the Light, seeing the sky dark and shimmering with stars was a welcome sight. Fufu had only been on the First for a week or two by that point, yet the growing sense of relief in her gut was overwhelming. If this was how she felt, she could hardly think what the twins were feeling after a year on the shard, or even the citizens of the Crystarium, having been born and raised under the merciless glow their whole lives. She could only hope this gift could make it up to the people of Holminster Switch for any friends or family they had lost in the attack.

Her smile wavered at the thought, but a sound from behind made her ear twitch, and she turned to give her guest a proud grin as he faded into view.

“It’s a lovely night out, wouldn’t you say?” she purred.

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit,” Ardbert shrugged, trying to pretend as though he was unperturbed at events, though the shine in his eye betrayed him, “I didn’t think this would actually work. The Exarch’s whole plan. You being able to pull it off.” He scratched behind his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I’m impressed. And grateful, in equal measure. Maybe now we’ll finally have a chance.”

“I hope so too,” Fufu nodded. Then with eyes downturned at the floor, she confessed, “I originally came here hoping to save my friends. Find out what happened to separate them, soul from flesh, and then reverse it. But hearing about the problems here and how set Alphinaud and Alisaie were on trying to help -- and I don’t doubt the archons probably feel the same way -- then I figured, if I could do something to help, then I’d do whatever I could.”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me. But I’ll say it again, as someone that lived here and uh...made the mistake of causing the Light in the first place, I appreciate you doing this. Cleaning up my mess and making things better for the people here. They didn’t deserve to suffer.”

Fufu frowned. “You need to stop acting like you did this on purpose. You can’t have known the death of the Ascians would tip things so wildly. You were just doing what you thought was the right thing. You were trying to keep people safe.” Ardbert mirrored her expression, a firmer set to his jaw and his hands tightening into fists.

“Aye, so I was, but I never stopped to consider if I could be doing something else. It was never about the bigger picture, it was always this narrow view right in front of me aimed right at the ascians.”

“So you spotted the problem and went to deal with it,” the miqo’te nodded, “Sure you can kick yourself now over “what ifs” or “could haves”, but what I’m hearing is that you were trying to deal with the issue at the source. Sometimes all a hero can do when they stumble into something is just solve the problems as best they can, sometimes without all the information. If it helps people, then you did the right thing at the time.”

The hume shook his head, an uneasy furrow to his brow. Fufu sighed.

“I can see you don’t believe me now, or maybe it's just hard for it to sink in. All I’ll say is that I get it. You do the best with what you have, but when it blows up on you, you can;t help but think about what you could’ve done better. But we can’t go back. We just have to keep going forward.” She turned, hands resting against the windowsill as she looked out at the stars again.

She could feel the room behind her go warm, the chill from Ardbert’s arrival fading away. But even with his departure, she knew she wasn’t left alone.

“I promise,” she muttered to the silence, “I’ll fix this. I’ll finish this.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #ardbert #shadowbringers #keeper of the moon miqo'te #my wol #my writing #fufu faelune #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv

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blueyemxn · 5 years

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My Persephone (Pt. 6)

Calamity Days

Relationship: Emet-SelchxWoL

Ao3 Story - Here Part One: Here Part Two: Here Part Three: Here Part Four: Here Part Five: Here

“Welcome to the final days of Amaurot.”

His voice towered above them, scornful and all knowing, setting the stage of disaster. The screams and the fire, the towering Amaurotines running and quaking in fear, their wisdom lost in the hysteria. Nua had only taken one step and she could barely breathe, grief striking at her core.

“This is so… terrible,” Ryne’s voice was just above a whisper, but it spoke with an unmistakable quiver. But then, who wouldn’t be?

“Steady, Ryne! Remember: this is just a recreation.” And, as ever, Thancred’s voice was a stable sound of reasoning, but seeing the look on his face spelled the opposite of calm.

“A recreation it may be, but I can see storms of emotion… the aether here is seething with it.”

However, she was not interested in the destruction set before them, for as Emet-Selch set the stage with entitled grandeur the test he was so stubbornly committed to began. A test to see if they, if she was worthy of his patronage.

With nary a word, Nua hauled out her axe and proceeded, heart heavy and mind bracing itself for harsh memories that would assault her being. The smoke and ash of the world filling her lungs and bringing a sense of despair that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like millennia.

“The fabric of our star began to fray… and the unchecked energies of creation begat malformed beasts. And lo, vile beasts did rise, leaving naught in their wake but blood and ash.”

Leaving naught but terror and panic, flailing around like frightened children, helpless in their endeavor to survive. Her companions called out to her, their voices drowning out amongst the roars and aching pains of the world around her.

“...re.”

Within the heated streets, battling Dooms and avoiding the buildings crumbling from above, a stray sound made it to her.

“K...ore.”

Ringing in her ears, the world shattering and crackling while another horde of horrors fell at her feet. But the voice was still there, coming back to her mind, inching it towards another memory, another shard. Another shard she didn’t have time for.

“...Kore.”

Hacking away at all those in her path, ignoring the cries of her people, ignoring the pain and the agony and the despair as their screams became the chorus of a horrendous discord. Her axe-head swung, etched in blood and all manor of disgusting gore from the corpses of dead creatures. The way the metal sang was low, half-hearted and melancholy, her focus elsewhere, staving off the past that was determined to remember.

“Kore!”

Nua shut her eyes, baring her fangs as she ripped apart another monster. But the voices didn’t stop. They never could.

“Kore!”

“What?!” Unable to bear the voice anymore, she opened her eyes and violently turned with a snarl, only to be met with a tall figure with neither hood nor mask, revealing a slender and tired face of an irritated mother.

“Kore, inside voice.” She said, her tone hollow and soft. “That’s no way to talk to your mother.”

“Why are you here?” She asked. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“We need to talk. I know you’re irritated—”

“Is it that obvious? Gee, I wonder why! You’re keeping me from Hades!”

“Emet-Selch is participating in a dangerous thing, you are no longer allowed to be around him.”

“I have a right to decide who I can and can’t stay with; I’m an—”

“Enough.” Her arm motioned for silence, the exhausted Amaurotine ending the interruption. “Emet-Selch cannot and will not be your patron any longer. You must stay here, where it is safe.”

A twitch. An anger filled her chest. This was unfair. This was not right. She was not going to leave Hades. She was not going to abandon him now as their star fell apart.

“I’m going whether you will it or not, Mother.” Kore turned away.She reached out to grab her arm, determined to spare her from her fate. Kore turned on her heel and lashed out, her other arm swerving in for a devastating blow—

“Nua!” Through the memories did her true name ring, calling and pulling her away from the intruding thoughts just in time for her axe to stop short before a wide-eyed Ryne.

Blue eyes blinked, fear pooling from their irises. “I...” she put on a brave face, but Nua could hear the tinge of fear in her voice. The Auri cursed.

“Dammit—Ryne, what were you doing? I could’ve killed you!”

“I… I saw the Light within you fluctuate and feared something was wrong.” She looked away in shame and Nua felt a pang of guilt run through her. As wise as she was for her age, Ryne was still a naive child, wanting to help and make peace and preserve life; unlike Nua who only knew war, and battle and death.

“Well, I’m fine so—”

“Ryne!” Called out Thancred as he barreled though, gunblade out and ready. “You really need to stop running off like that you know!”

“Sorry, it’s just Nua…”

“I’m fine, as I said.” She turned away, looking to see that the path before them had opened forward, awaiting the queue for the next slew of events to unfold within this grand theater.

“The land buckled; the cities burned; the waters ran red with blood. For soon did the sun bend low, scorching earth and boiling seas”

The land screamed; it tore itself asunder as the illness plaguing the star erupted and corrupted, spread through a world doomed to fall. Our heroes journeyed forth, arms at the ready, plucking the life away from all who dared to block their path. Running across the bodies of Amaurotine, clutching each other in a desperate need for comfort; in pain as the illness of the star consumed them.

“K..re!”

Another fracture, calling into a memory, pulling and sinking deep within her psyche. A warning? A beckoning? Neither matters to her; only striving forward.

“Kore!!”

It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It. Isn’t. Real!

“Kore watch out!” His voice vibrated painfully in her ears and she looked up to see one of the creatures raising it’s gnarled claws up to strike her down. Her heart beating a mile a minute, hands shaking in terror. She was frozen.

“All that I have and more, I bring to bear!” The sound of Hythlodaeus’ voice managed to wrangle her back to her senses as his magic shielded her from the blow. Her breath was ragged as she looked upon the beast so desperate to tear her apart. “My friend, if you aren’t careful you’ll end up being cut down before you reach the Convocation!”

She could hear his usual calm, and grinning self despite the chaotic loudness sounding around them. He was there as he always was; supporting her; helping her; guiding her.

“I know! It's just…” a clenched fist and gritted teeth; what was she waiting for? Why does she hesitate? Why was she so afraid? A hand on her shoulder and she looked to see his smile radiating a reassuring glow.

“Do not shed tears, my friend, I am here. Together we will overcome this!” He told her as he wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“Daeus… We must move on, we can’t keep fighting everything in our path.”

“Then go without me.”

“What?!”

“I am causing you hesitation and discourse. Hurry and move on ahead, I shall keep the beasts at bay.”

“But—”

“You do not want to keep Hades waiting do you? You know how he gets when he’s kept waiting. Now go!” His magic pushed forward, staggering the creature before it was assaulted by his magics. Kore turned to him, but all he did was grin at her, a hint of mischief playing upon his lips even as the world around him crumbled to dust.

“Yet this was far from the worst of it. Come, and I will show you… Just a little further… and you will see the end of a world.”

The voice of Emet-Selch boomed once more, clearing her mind and bringing her back. Beneath her did the dead carcass of the bird monster lay, its body plastered all over the arena after being cleaved in half. Beyond was a portal to the final part of this farce; of this judgement.

Just a little more and perhaps we can end this without having to kill each other A hopeful and impossible thought, she knew, but hoped for it nonetheless.

“What do you suppose lies beyond…?”

“Only one way to find out!” Before anyone could stop her, Alisaie charged through with weapon in hand. Thancred cursed and followed after, followed by a nervous Alphinaud and Ryne and followed more by a huffing Y’shtola and a silent Urianger. She was the only one to stay behind.

Nua stared at the portal, knowing that the ever present narrator was eager to end his tale and remind them of the folly of their past and of their future. But she couldn’t help but stare, blinking at the swirling aether while the horrifying echoes of a dying world became white noise to her inner thoughts.

“I can only wonder if you’re doing this on purpose; provoking my memories like this, or if this is just further proof you need that I’m too broken to fix.” She said, bitterness resting on her tongue.

“. . .”

She did not expect him to answer of course, but she knew he was watching her. While the stage was set to show everyone the tragedy of their world, his eyes were always on her. Watching. Judging. Hoping. Even now when her allies were waiting for her to jump through the portal his gaze, his attention was on her, on what she would do next.

Nua took a step forward, feeling the aether churn before her, almost touching her armored form. But she did not go through, not yet. “We both know how this is going to end. You will judge us. You will dismiss us. You will fight us as your brethren have done before you. You say you want to follow the road of lesser tragedy and yet you repeat the mistakes of your fellows.”

“. . .”

He must hate her, ruefully gazing down on her at the audacity to say such things, but if Hades was going to spill out the entire truth then so shall she.

Her hand clenched and finally found the will to move once more, to enter the beginning of the end; the genesis and the oblivion; the first and the last. The world beneath them glittering with chaos, a world destroying itself from the sins of its people and its past. One final time her eyes looked back, towards the heavens, to wherever he may be watching her.

“In the end it is your decision on how we walk this road. Whether it be hand in hand, or not at all.”

#ffxiv #ffxiv shadowbringers #emet-selch #|| drabble

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